Our Lady's Left Hand
by Caerl
Summary: DA II. Post-Deep Roads. Cale Hawke has a decision to make. Help Aveline track the elven murderers or help Isabela find a thief. Who comes first? The Qunari are waiting. Reviews or PMs are always appreciated.
1. Ch 1 A Wine, A Time

He set the bottle under the tap and carefully unseated the plug. The cask was marked with an Orlesian seal burned into the plug end. **Burdock Winery-Second Century** it proclaimed.

The sweet smell of an expensive red brought a rare smile to the champion's face. Lately there had been very little happening in his new home city of Kirkwall that would lift his spirits. His lady love's pleasure at the sight of his gift was a given.

Just as he was re-seating the plug, the cellar door above opening caught his attention. The sound of shuffling feet on the landing was muted-Someone was trying to be stealthy. The first step leading down creaked, then the second. The third, he knew, would be a real surprise. He opened his mouth to call out a warning, but a thudding crash and a muttered curse interrupted. There were five more steps to the landing half-way down into the Hawke Estate's wine cellar, then ten more to the cellar's stone floor.

_Fumblefoot, maybe he'll stop on the landing. _"That you Varric?" Hawke called out. He made a face. "Watch your step. You'll wind up shooting yourself in the ass if your not careful." He picked up a damp cork from the bucket on a shelf, waiting for his friend's temper to boil over.

When it came it was vintage surfacer dwarf. "Up _yours_, you Hawke bastard." It was too dark to see, but he imagined the dwarf giving him the Antivan one-fingered salute if his arm wasn't broken. "Shows just how much you know,"Varric was picking himself up from the first landing, "Bianca was on safe. She'd never do that."

Hawke patiently trimmed the cork he'd just sealed the bottle with and reached for a roll of gold foil embossed with the Burdock herald. "So, what brings the Bard of Kirkwall to the humble Hawke wine cellar?" he asked the room, wrapping the corked neck and smoothing the foil. "Courting death by misadventure, perhaps?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten?" the dwarf said, stepping into the cone of light thrown by the wall lamp. "It's the… what? Fourth, fifth, anniversary?" He adjusted his crossbow with a shrug and continued, "It's time for some answers, Hawke. Tell me who she is or I beat it out of you."

He set the bottle on a shelf and replied, "It's year six, my friend, and you still haven't figured it out. This may be the final clue. I've got a feeling about…"

"Out with it then. I've searched everywhere in Kirkwall and damned if I've found any trace of the other… is it five already, bottles?" He thought for a moment. "Unless she's a lush and drunk it all up." He seemed pleased with himself.

Hawke had to smile. "No, Varric, they're hidden in plain sight. I see them every time we meet. She says they're being saved for just the right moment." His smile widened.

The dwarf threw up his hands and paced the underground room. "I give up. Following you is impossible. How you kept her a secret is beyond me. Just tell me!"

"The final clue," he murmured, "let me set this up." He looked up. "The Arishok is dying on the common room floor. The nobles gathered are cheering, but my attention is on her-Just her. Her look holds approval and… something else-desire?"

"Another Hawke dream of grandeur?" the dwarf posed. He still had no idea. "Merrill? Aveline? That apostate… what was her name… Grace?"

_He's getting close-Your Grace! _Hawke sighed and shook his head. "When she gave the Champion of Kirkwall the Chantry's blessing, I _knew!_ She was mine for the taking-Varric!"

It hit him just then. He shook his head and stared. "Andraste's dimpled butt-cheeks, Hawke. She's old enough to…"

"No more than twenty years," he interrupted. "It doesn't matter. What's a number? Varric, _I love her!_"

He made a show of counting on his fingers, mumbling to himself. He shook his head and looked up. "And does_ she_ know about this?" the bard asked, trying to throw cold water on his friend's emotions.

The champion was ready. "For the last five years, we've been nothing more than friends. She has vows to uphold." Seeing his friend's smirk, he continued. "After the duel with the Qunari, I'm sure of how I feel."

"And how does _she _feel?" More cold water-He couldn't resist.

"I'll find out the next time I see her!" His heat made steam. Picking up the bottle, he smoothed the foil once more.

"Alright, Hawke," Varric raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture, "How?"

* * *

><p>"Alright, Hawke," Varric turned from standing Bianca on her heel in the corner of the upstairs study. "Six years ago? Tell me how an outlaw immigrant got an audience with the Kirkwall Chantry's highest ranking scholar." He sat in a comfortable chair and looked up expectantly.<p>

The Champion of Kirkwall set his gift aside and picked up the table bottle and two cups from the sideboard. He set them on the table and filled them. "First thing, you can't repeat what I say about My Lady or the book. If you can't swear it, I can't tell you." He crossed his arms and waited.

"You're serious about this," the dwarf exclaimed. He sighed and rolled his eyes when he saw Hawke's expression. "Messere Hawk, I, Varric Tethras, swear that no one will hear about your relationship or the book from me." He met his friend's steady gaze. "Good enough?"

He nodded, satisfied. "It started with the search for a book. Do you remember the title?"

"Sure, like it was only yesterday." Obviously he'd forgotten. His face brightened. "Oh yeah! Andraste's… left… ARM! That was it. Andraste's Left Arm, a treatise on the origin of the Black Devine. It was considered contraband, but the High Cleric kept a copy in her archives anyway. It was rumored to be worth a small fortune."

Hawke seemed to take pleasure in setting his friend straight. "You were wrong on two counts, my friend. Varric's nug-hunt, as I like to call it, was for 'Our Lady's Left Hand', and it wasn't where you said it would be." He didn't tell him it wasn't about the Black Devine either, that could wait.

"That book was a myth. If it existed at all, it'd be under lock and key. Anything that valuable," his eyes gleamed, "wouldn't of been left lying around. My best guess was it would most likely be locked up with Sister Petrine's other books in the Chantry's Archives." He raised his hands. "I never heard from you that you found it, Hawke. Did you?" He leaned over and picked up his cup.

Hawke sat back in his chair, relishing the memory, took a drink and set the cup down. "I searched the room at the Archives for hours, checking every title written by Sister Petrine-She was a very busy scribe. Just about the time I was going to give up, I spotted a shelf of books in an alcove outside the cleric's quarters. It was there. I'd pulled it and was looking at the flyleaf when she startled me…

* * *

><p><em> "Excuse me, young man, could you help me here, please?" She wore a grey wool dressing gown and was holding a large book with both hands. Her voice charmed me. It was quiet, yet just firm enough to gain my confidence.<em>

_ A young woman with fair hair and pale blue eyes who was dressed in scholar's robes cut off my reply, "I'm sorry, you called, Your Grace?"_

_ That was when I noticed the tell-tale brand on her forehead. A sunburst-shaped weal that told all that she was a tranquil-A mage with her powers removed. Her calm demeanor and lack of emotion were the only other signs of her condition._

_ "We are fine here, Nella," the Grand Cleric's smile was radiant, "I have all the help I need, thank you."_

_ Nella bowed her head and left with a dignified,"Your Grace."_

_ "She's such a beautiful child," the woman's tone was wistful. "To lose such a bright talent is a shame."_

_ I couldn't help myself. "But you made her that way! You took away her self, her wants, her dreams?" Had I gone too far? I looked away. "Your pardon… Your Grace."_

_ Evidently not; "Being made tranquil is a mercy," she said in that same calm voice. "In spite of what you have heard, our war is not with mages. It is with the demons that can plague them." She set her book down on a table and continued. "Possession is like a disease, a mortal disease. A possessed mage is an abomination. An abomination cannot be cured, it must be destroyed. Every abomination is a failure for the Templars to deal with." She looked at me for understanding._

_ I didn't understand. "Your Grace, everywhere I look, Templars are fighting in the streets…"_

_ She interrupted me by taking my hand-the one that wasn't holding the book. Her touch was cool, calming. "There are abuses, I agree… but our task remains. We, the Templars, the Chantry, must protect our charges-The mages and the populace. It is not an easy task" Her grey eyes held mine. "Now, young man, if you could shelve this for me, please?" _

_ When I turned from my task, she was looking at me sternly. "Were you planning on taking that with you when you leave?" she arched an eyebrow at me._

_ I looked up from the book I was holding-directly into those calm grey eyes. "If I said no, it would be a lie…Your Grace." I looked away. She'd shamed me. When I looked back, she was holding her hand out. Without hesitation, I gave her her book._

_ She smiled at me, it went all the way to her eyes-those beautiful grey eyes. She didn't call the guards. She handed the book back to me and said, "The Chantry is not about repression, young man. We are about spreading the Light of the Maker." She smiled again, stopping my heart for the moment. "Please return it to its place when you are done," she said, gesturing to the chair in the alcove placed near the window where the rising sun was just starting to show. "Maker's Blessing on you," she finished and turned. It seemed to take forever for her to reach the far door-That body…_

* * *

><p>Varric set his cup down and smirked. "That body," he mimicked. "You're caught red-handed with a chantry relic… you're facing the swords of the Templars and all you can think about is her body?"<p>

"She was and is a beautiful woman," he raised a forestalling hand, "And the age difference be_ damned_."

The dwarf nodded, picked up the bottle and refilled their cups. "So, what happened to the book?"

Hawke sighed. "I was so worked up and surprised, I read the flyleaf, put the book back on the shelf, and got my sorry ass out of there."

"And… what did the fly say?" Varric wanted to know.

He knew it well, but hesitated just the same. "It said; _To my Sister Elthina, with all my Love, Sister Petrine._"

"You didn't find out what it was about?" The dwarf couldn't believe it.

"Not then. It took another year to really read that book, but I'm getting ahead of myself."

"It figures," his disappointment was hard to hide. "I have to wait to find out about the _other_ Divine?" It was almost a whine.

"I went back the next day. It was the equinox-the start of spring. That's how I remember it." Hawke was ruminating again…

* * *

><p><em> Her first bottle was from the wine cellar before it was the Hawke Estate's. I guess you could say we… I stole it. My uncle managed to lose our mother and father's Kirkwall estate to the slavers he was indebted to. When searching for our grandparents' will, we found three casks and a rack with four bottles of that fine Burdock Red. Those four bottles resided under my bed at uncle's for the first year.<em>

_ I don't know why, but a bottle of red seemed the perfect thing to give to the Lady of the Chantry. Especially since she didn't call out the guard to collect me. The next night I slipped into the Archives again and set my gift on the table next to her chair. I'd set about to find something to pen a missive to her when she caught me again._

_ "You again, Messere?" She was resplendent in her grey chantry hooded robe with a scarlet blouse. The hood was down and her iron grey hair was pulled up in a matronly bun. "Will I need to inventory my shelves… again?" she asked, studying me intently._

_ I picked the bottle up and bowed. "A social call, Your Grace." Her smile lifted my heart. "May I offer an apology and a thank you?"_

_ Her eyes became thoughtful, her smile remained. "For what, may I ask?"_

_ "For invading your privacy with larceny in my heart and for your…" I searched for the words, "giving me the chance to make restitution." The admission made me breathless._

_ "The word of our Lady Andraste is about forgiving, young man. You have indeed surprised me." Her eyes were on me. "I hope that is not from… here."_

_ I looked at the bottle in my hand as if it had just appeared. "Oh no, Your Grace. I brought this… for you. A gift." I turned it for her inspection._

_ She sighed. Was it pleasure? "Ah, a Burdock Red. Second Century! I… we haven't seen any of its like for an age." She looked up a me doubtfully. "For me?"_

_ "Aye," was all I could say, "Your Grace-It is."_

_ I jumped when she clapped her hands twice. "Nella, dear, would you fetch the wine service for two please? There's a good girl!" she led me to an alcove off the main library…_

* * *

><p>"I've got some competition now, Hawke?" Varric picked up the table bottle and refilled it from the Cask of Antivan Brandy tucked away in a corner. He spared no expense, did Varric Tethras. Especially when it came to drinking his friend's spirits. "Your lies will put me out of business. They make my efforts look small." He filled their cups and, once again, sat.<p>

"The truth shall set you free," he said. "You don't have to believe it, you didn't live it." His smirk was a direct challenge.

"Next thing you'll tell me, you did the _nasty_ with the…"

"No, I did _not_!" Hawke's vehemence made him look up. "We just talked." He had to laugh at the dwarf's look of skepticism. "Varric, I couldn't believe it! We just talked. All night! About just about everything; Templars, tranquils, mages, demons-and mostly the injustices heaped on the Chantry by ignorance and superstition. She stayed up all night, just to talk to me!"

"So, can we change your name, Hawke?" he posed. "Something that fits? Ah _insomnia_!"

* * *

><p>Varric looked up and tried to focus on a lamp hanging over the table."Hawke, one part of your story is still fuzzy." His speech wasn't slurred. He wasn't drunk yet, but he was getting there. "The darkspawn wasted Lothering… how in the blazes did you get away from them?" With that said, he pushed his cup farther away.<p>

The champion sighed. The loss of his brother wasn't easy to talk about. "_Asha'belannar_, The Woman of Many Years," he murmured. "Have you ever heard of her?"

"Yeah," the dwarf looked perplexed. "You've said it in your sleep more than a few times. It sounds like a lost lover."

"Nah, she's a witch. Even the Dalish know of her." He smiled in recollection. "Her beauty aged to perfection."

"Is it only me, Hawke? I'm seeing that my friend has a thing for the older ladies?" At last he had something on his friend. Now, how to hold it over his head.

"No… nothing like that. I just appreciate feminine beauty when I see it." He had to smile at the dwarf's skeptical reaction. "When she first appeared, she was in her draconic form. She mowed down a whole company of darkspawn blighters-There must've been thirty in all. She seemed to take pleasure in killing them-She was even dragging one by the leg while she changed to a human. I wonder if she… _eats_ them," he mused.

"Oh, now I see," the dwarf grinned. "She wasn't interested in you."

"After that, she made a deal," Hawke continued, "she would help us; Me, my family, and Aveline get to a ship bound for Kirkwall if we delivered an amulet to the Dalish Elves camped on Sundermount."

Varric held up his hands. "I can pick up the story from there," he said. "that's where you met Daisy. What I don't know-What I need to know is… what happened to the two who didn't make it to the ship?" He looked away. "That is, if you want to talk about it, Hawk. I'll understand if you don't. In your original tale, you skipped over it, so I figured…"

"It's all right, I guess. It needs to be told." He took a long drink from his cup and said, "It was a few hours after we met Aveline and her husband, Wesley. I'd never seen an unarmored warrior fight like she did. That damned 'spawn that hurt Wesley didn't have a chance. She beat him to the ground with bare fists, then chopped his head off with his own sword. To see her pick up that Templar sword and shield and then help her husband to his feet… that horse-of-a-woman is something else!"

Varric looked confused. "You said Wesley… died. How?" he gently asked.

Hawke looked at the window across the room. Though it was dark, it was as if he could see something outside. "With all that blood, he was infected with the taint. I… I offered to give him release, but Aveline wouldn't hear of it. She did her final duty-Sent him on to the end of his path.

"Aveline, there's a place at Andraste's side for that one," the dwarf commiserated. He picked up his cup, more to have something to do than to drink. He waited.

"Hawke…Cale, I know how tough this is." Hawke looked up. "Tell me about Carver."

"Carver, my little brother. He always had to work twice as hard just to keep up. _Hey catch-up Carver, where's your knife? _Him and Bethany were twins, you knew that, right?"

"Yeah, Hawke, I think you told me that."

"Our father was a mage and being declared apostate didn't sit well with him. He resented having his family shunted around just one step ahead of the Templars. He passed his abilities on to his youngest daughter, but somehow it skipped her twin brother, Carver."

He took a drink and sat still, considering what to say next. "My brother was never a fighter. With the choice to fight or to run, he always walked away-Unless he was cornered. Whenever I saw him outside, he was sitting, watching, listening…" The champion seemed to have run out of words.

"Hawke, what happened to Carver?"

He was again staring at something far away. "We were a few days out of Lothering. The darkspawn harried us just enough to keep us moving. We'd kill a few and then move on. They gave us little chance to rest. Finally, we came to a clearing where the path widened out. Bethany burned up the few darkspawn there and we stopped to rest. Aveline settled Wesley down and tended to him. He didn't seem to be getting any better. His sword arm was next to useless and she was having to help him more and more now. The potions she gave him had no affect."

"I was across the clearing with Bethany and barely heard Wesley's hoarse cry; _Ohh Grrr! _The pounding of its feet on the dusty path I _did_ hear. It used a tactic that I later learned was called a rush."

"It charged across the clearing, knocking me and Bethany down. Then it kicked Aveline over and ran down Carver and our mother-Carver that had always walked away, but… not this time." Hawke looked up, his eyes were bright. "He stood his ground, Varric, I'll always remember that." He paused a moment to collect himself.

"Bethany was scrambling over the rocks, looking for her staff and I was searching for my main-hand blade when the Ogre attacked Carver. All we could do was watch. We were just too far away, on the other side of that damned clearing. He got one good strike in though. I watched in awe as my brother turned his greatsword in his grip and impaled the Ogre's belly, driving the point up towards its heart."

"But that was Carver's last act. The enraged beast picked him up… crushed the life out of him, and threw him aside-Almost into his mother's arms. After he did that, he turned and charged toward Bethany… she was on her knees, moaning that she couldn't see. She told us later that her power left her-She couldn't say why. That left Aveline and me to face the bastard."

The dwarf was thoughtful. This part of the story was new to him. "You know, there's a mystic connection between twins. Maybe your sister experienced Carver's death. Does she ever talk about it?"

"No," he mused. "She gets too upset with me if I even start to talk about him. Maybe she's mentioned it to mother when they've had their heads together."

"It may be worth trying to find out…' He let his statement hang. "So, you and Aveline faced the Ogre?"

He nodded, not smiling at the thought. "Carver hurt that damned beast-hurt it bad. I'm sure it would've died eventually, but it was still dangerous. It was so intent on getting at Bethany, we had an easy job finishing it off. Aveline hamstrung its left leg with one stab and I severed its spine when it turned on her. Then it was simple to end its miserable existence-Wesley's wife staked its throat and it was all over."

"At least your little brother's death didn't go unanswered," the dwarf bard observed.

"Bethany… Bethany," the champion said. "My, sister… regained her powers just as we finished the beast. Varric, I've fought battles without number since then, and I've never seen the fury she summoned on that day. There was nothing left of Carver's killer but ash. I managed to pull his greatsword from the thing's belly-It's now hanging on the sitting room mantle. The fire was so hot, the blade was ruined-The alloy, crystallized. She almost killed herself doing that. Thank the Maker for the bottle of lyrium we found on the trail."

The silence spun out. The only sounds were the wind in the eaves, trying to find a way inside and the embers in the fire murmuring about eternity.

Varric now had an unsteady hand on his shoulder. "You alright, my friend? That musta took a lot outta ya."

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks. I didn't think it'd do much good to talk about it, but it did."

"Time for me ta' go. I'll be like Daisy, can't find my way home," the dwarf mumbled.

"Use the guest room down-stairs," Hawke told him. "I'm not leading you home."

"Hummpf! Thanks pal, I owe ya' one." He steadied himself with a hand on the bannister and looked down the stairs. It looked like a long way down.

"Hey Varric!"

"What Hawke?"

"You forget somethin'?" He pointed to the corner behind his friend's seat.

"Damn… Bianca." He managed to retrieve his crossbow without incident. "I owe you _another_ one Hawke."

"On your tab, right? Next time, I wanna hear about Bianca-No waffling."

Varric looked down the stairs again, not sure if he could make the trip. "I'll hafta think about it." He took the first step and steadied himself. "Night Hawke… happy hangover."

A/N Thanks to _Wyl_ for helping me keep the wheels straight and true._ C_.

*So far, this story is written _sans-Sebastian_. If it makes a difference, drop me a PM, you never know…


	2. Ch 2 Of The Tranquil

Varric sat at the table in the Hawke Estate's dining room with a pounding head held in his hands. "Brandy and red wine, what in the Maker's name was I thinking?" he moaned. Bodahn had just left after his cheery 'Good Morning' was greeted by a grunt and a red-eyed stare.

He was back after some time, carrying a mug of evil-smelling brew. "Drink this right down, Serah, it will cure what ails you."

Despite the house-man's lowered voice, the dwarf winced and covered his ears. "Right, _ohh…_ thanks Bodahn, I think." He looked up and squinted. "Mornin' Hawke. How's your head?" he asked. He looked at the mug and took a tentative swallow.

"Not as bad as it could be." He turned and managed a weak smile. "Good morning Bodahn-How's Sandal?"

"Why, he's fine, Serah Hawke, never better. Thank you for asking."

"Got anything for a headache?" he asked, lowering his voice in deference to his friend sitting across the table. He knew better than to ask for something to eat-That was for later.

Sandal's father was smiling again. "I made a double batch of mother's recipe this morning-Coming right up!"

* * *

><p>"Hey Hawke, where ya' been?" the bar-maid greeted him as soon as he stepped into the Hanged Man. He remembered her-She always had a ready, open smile, and a kind word. "Go right on up. He's expectin' ya'."<p>

He smiled in return and just nodded, embarrassed that he'd forgotten her name. _Lucida? Lucinda? Something like that._

He rapped and pulled open the newly-rebuilt door to Varric's suite. He made a big show of examining the joinery. "That's some door… tired of beating the women off with a stick? Or is it bill collectors? I can never be sure."

His friend looked up from his writing and laid the quill down. "I don't know which is worse, but it works for them both." He pulled a face. "You know about us dwarfs, the women just can't resist."

"So how goes it?" Hawke sat down and fingered a pile of note-paper stacked on his side of his friend's granite-topped dining table.

"Once the headache eased off, I managed to move along at a good clip." He moved the quill and pushed the ink bottle out of reach. "I just noted the salient points. The story, I'll write when time permits."

Hawke got up and crossed the room to close the door. "Varric, I was thinking about what we talked about last night. How secure are your notes? If any of it got out…"

He held up a hand. "Not to worry, my friend," he interrupted, turning his notes around for Hawke to read. "Now, what does that say?"

He looked where the dwarf was pointing, then looked again. "Huh! It's dwarven, isn't it?" he shook his head. Not a word written there made any sense to him. "Who'da thought… but can anyone read it?" he wondered aloud.

"Very few of the living," he confided. "It's an old cypher I found in some of Bartrand's junk from Orzammar. It's simple to learn and it works with almost any alphabet. I used our local dialect, so it's not as secure as it could be, but it's secure enough. I can teach it to you if you want."

"It might come in handy. Now, when can we find the time?"

"Not a problem. I have a note with the base form here. Keep it and just memorize the words. They can be written in sequence to decode the writing. I've learned it, so it's like a second language. Give it some practice and you'll be writing it without help in no time."

He looked at the note and folded it into a pocket. "So, Bodahn told me you wanted to discuss something…?"

"Hawke, you can't leave until I find out more about your… interest in the Grand Cleric. Of all the women in Kirkwall, why her?"

"Well, _you _sent me there to find that book and sure, _she _caught me, but then she let me go. She didn't have to. I've never met a woman like her." He had that far-away look on his face, again.

"She's taken vows, Hawke. She's in service to the Maker, no man. You know that, right?" He set Bianca up on the table and fiddled with a catch. An alarmingly loud click didn't seem to bother him.

He ignored Varric's pointed question. "The second year? The second year." He watched as the dwarf field stripped his weapon and started wiping off parts with an oiled cloth."We finished paying off our uncle's debt to the smugglers, who paid the bribe to let us into the city. It was worth it, I guess. We learned our way around and who it was wise to avoid, thanks to you my friend."

"I know. I'd joined you by then." He'd heard this part before. He changed the subject. "So, when did you see her next? I still can't figure out how you got by her guards, she's the Chantry's leader, for Andraste's sake."

"Remember the Hawke Estate's entrance in the sewers? We found it looking for grandfather's will. There's a side passage, with a hidden trap-door. It comes out just behind the main hearth in the cleric's quarters."

Must've missed it, somehow," the dwarf mused. Seldom did something like that escape his notice. "So, you've been seeing her… regularly. When did you first believe that you even had a chance with her?"

Hawke had to smile. "The first time I knew… We were discussing the tranquil. It was when she showed me the _real _Elthina…

* * *

><p><em> "Mages that I've talked to say they'd prefer death over being made tranquil," I challenged her. We were seated in an alcove off the cleric's private library.<em>

_ She gave me a challenging look in return. "Those so-called mages obviously have no experience-They have never been made tranquil. They have probably yet to even meet one." Her chin came up. "Their opinions hinge upon myths, hear-say."_

_ "Still, my lady, they're little more than slaves." I shot back. "How do you justify that?"_

_ She smiled at my lapse, but made no comment. "Young man, our mages vow to serve the Maker, and through him, all of humanity. _Dead_… how can they do that? I risk repeating myself when I say becoming an abomination is a death sentence for any mage."_

_ I had no answer to that. I shook my head and looked away._

_ She continued, "Most of our tranquils keep their learned skills, only their talent with magic is blunted. To protect them from evil denizens in the Fade, the connection with the Fade, their dreams, are deadened. A side affect of the process also removes their emotional centers. Only those mage candidates who are hunted by demons in their dreams are even considered for the Rite of Tranquility, a condemnation. Their will must be strong enough to resist possession."_

_ "So, how do you know?" I challenged her. "You hold their very future in your hands." _

_ She smiled knowingly. "That, I cannot tell you. Suffice it to say, that is what our Templars are trained to do. Before their Harrowing, mages are closely watched for signs of distress in their sleep." She took a deep breath, watching me for signs of boredom. Seeing none, she said, "Those that fail their Harrowing, or take too long to complete it, are executed by the Templars, and very few are condemned before their most important final test."_

_ I couldn't help but recall Anders' outrage at what was now called The Tranquil Solution, where a Templar, Ser Alrik by name, was taking Chantry matters into his own hands. "Rumor has it, Lady Elthina, that even true mages, ones who have passed their Harrowing, are being condemned for simply speaking out against their unjust treatment."_

_ Her unruffled air slipped. "That, Serah Hawke, is a problem…" she was looking for the words. "…that has come to my attention. It is something that needs to be addressed. Meredith, it seems, needs some reining-in," she mused, shaking her head in resignation._

_ She went on, "As an aside, Brother Genitivi found references to another type of Harrowing and the Rite of Tranquility. An obscure tome written by a Tevinter Magister tells of mage battles in the Fade where the loser, if killed in the Fade, becomes tranquil. He has found no more evidence to support or deny that finding. Recent events have kept us too busy to follow up that claim. It is a shame." _

_ "Anything I can do to aid you and the Chantry, Your Grace," I said. "You have only to ask."_

_ "You have my eternal gratitude, Serah Hawke," she replied with a radiant smile…_

* * *

><p>"So she did hear the rumors," Varric said. He set his newly-cleaned and tensioned crossbow into the corner and returned to his notes. "The war between Orsino and Meredith was about to boil over. The Qunari threat was on the rise as well. Not a good time for Kirkwall."<p>

"That wasn't the end of our discussion of the tranquil-Not by a long shot." He picked up a note that had somehow found its way to the floor. "Just after Elthina defused the public confrontation between the Circle and the Templars, I got a note from her. She wished to see me privately. 'Let no one see you on your way here,' it said…

* * *

><p><em> After Nella showed me into the Grand Cleric's private sitting room, she tapped on the bed-chamber door and slipped inside. An advantage to her being tranquil was that she didn't seem bothered when a man suddenly appeared in her Lady's private chambers without an escort.<em>

_ "Pardon my intrusion, Your Grace, I was in the area and…"_

_ Was she expecting me? Possibly. Her dressing gown, though of simple cut, complemented a full, mature figure. "Good Even, Serah Hawke," she knew the dance as well as I. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"_

_ "A matter has come to light that needs your immediate attention, Your… _Grace_." I tipped her a shadow of a wink._

_ She surprised me when she winked back and said, "Nella, dear, you can finish your copying and read chapter three in your missal before retiring. Please see that I am not disturbed without warning." Her smile of conspiracy made her look years younger._

_ "Certainly, Your Grace," she said with a practiced curtsey. "Serah Hawke." She closed the door quietly when she left._

_ "Thank you for coming. I may need your help with a matter related to what we discussed before. But first, let me show you something. Please, pour the wine while I get that something from the other room."_

_ I looked at the bottle that was warming on a fixture in the hearth. "No Second Century?" I asked. There were still the three bottles I'd given her in the rack half-hidden in the far corner. I could see them from the fireplace. _

_ "No Messere, not tonight." Was she teasing me? Her face told me it was so. "Please, wait right there. There's something I want you to see." My eyes couldn't help but follow her as she went into a side room, leaving the door ajar._

_ I took some time to look around the sitting room. Elthina truly lived here. Framed portraits and pen-and-ink sketches lined the walls. Some I recognized, some I didn't. Most were spare, but well done-The subjects' personalities were there. Two completed portraits really stood out; One was a portrait of Andraste, done in oil, that captured her emotions at her final ordeal. This one hung over the mantle, occupying a place of prominence._

_ The wine was of interest. It was a bottle of Burdock Red, but from the First Century. I didn't think any existed, but yet, here it was, uncorked and breathing-waiting for us. Upon turning, I walked over to look at the second portrait, hung on the far wall. It was another beautifully executed oil with three subjects, arm-in-arm; A very young Elthina flanked by a man and a woman. All three wore the robes of a Chantry acolyte._

_ "Here we are." She had returned like a shadow and set a stack of portrait-size art paper on the table next to two wine glasses. "Please, pour." She invited, with a smile that belied an impatient gesture. _

_ I had to smile at her enthusiasm, it did become her. "I was wondering about that portrait, there." I picked up a glass, poured a sample and passed it to her. "You are in the middle. Who are the others?" _

_ She made a show of examining the wine in the light, sniffed, tasted, sighed with pleasure, and held the crystal up to be filled. "Oh that… that is a reminder of the end of my mis-spent youth; Done by a Chantry artist just before our ordination."_

_ When our glasses touched, my world slowed, stood still, then started turning again. I was lost in her eyes. We drank._

_ She broke the spell. "On my right is Sister Petrine. She's now a Revered Mother. She seems happy with a… demotion-Doesn't aspire to anything more." She sighed. "We still correspond… but her letters get fewer as time goes by."_

_ "She's a very prolific writer," I remarked. "Her Chantry histories are not as dry as I expected either."_

_ "Sweet Petrine…" she murmured. Looking over her glass of wine, she continued, "And on my left is Brother Genitivi. Have you heard of his quest to find the Ashes of Andraste? My dear brother has made his mark in history."_

_ "That was the story of the Hero of Ferelden," I quipped. "The ashes had a part in beating the Dragon Age Blight. There was an Antivan history book that mentioned it. I don't remember where my sister got it, though. Odd that Sister Petrine was silent about it."_

_ "Not really," she replied. "If you consider the controversy about revealing that the Urn of Sacred Ashes had really been found. Petrine's book was suppressed. Our _Most Holy, The Devine,_ was furious when the story leaked out. I suppose that had something to do with Petrine's silence about it. Her letters were angry at first, then resigned. She was inconsolable…"_

* * *

><p>"You two were getting right cozy by then," the dwarf observed.<p>

" At first, I was just someone who intrigued her-A strange bug crawling along on her window ledge. After awhile, after I got to know her, she seemed… lonely. It was like there was no-one to tell how she really felt-Did anyone really care? As time went by, she went from defending the Chantry's cut-and-dried doctrine to speaking her own heart and mind."

Varric was thoughtful. "That could be a dangerous stance for her, but an enviable position for you, my friend." He leaned back in his chair, ignoring the ominous sounds of protest it made. "She was starting to trust you," he concluded. "So, what about… what did she want to _show_ you?" His leering wink said he had a good idea.

He shook his head. _Same old Varric! _"We had been talking about the tranquil." He made a show of straightening his friend's stack of notes in front of him. "We were both pretty well loosened up by the wine…"

* * *

><p><em> "Back to our talk of the tranquil." She set her wine glass aside and ran a careful hand across the top sheet on the table. "My Nella… was condemned at just about the time you, your family and the new Guard Captain…" She smiled at my look of surprise. "… arrived here in Kirkwall. In spite of her abilities, she was unable to deal with the pressures of the Fade. It got to the point where the poor thing was too terrified to lie down for long. Exhaustion claims us all, eventually… she actually petitioned the First Enchanter for release from her commitment. That wasn't possible-It was too late. She… didn't go willingly…" She put her head in her hands.<em>

_ She stiffened when my hands slid around her shoulders, then she relaxed and leaned back. "You saved her life," I whispered into her ear. "The demon didn't claim her. A small victory in a long, bitter war. You said it yourself, Lady; Dead, we cannot serve the Maker."_

_ She placed her hands on mine and squeezed. "What's done is done. Let me show you this." Then a thought seemed to occur to her. "Hawke, Cale, if I may," she squeezed my hands again, "We are at a crossroad now. If we are to continue our… friendship, there is something you need to understand." _

_ "Yes, Lady?"_

_ She closed her eyes. "As you know, I occupy a station here that I take very seriously. Propriety must be observed… in the public arena, I represent the Chantry here in Kirkwall. There is a line that must never be crossed. I must have your word never to cross that line before we can continue."_

_"You have it. My Lady… Elthina. On my honor."_

_ "So bound, Serah Cale. It has been so long since anyone has called me by my given name," she murmured wistfully._

_ My hands were still on her shoulders, pressing, kneading. She seemed to be enjoying the attention._

_"I wanted to show you this," she said, lifting the top sheet so I could see the text. It was a hand-lettered copy of The Chant of Light, First Verse. "One of my Nella's talents is with making copies. She can print three different scripts. This sheet is a cull. Can you see her errors?"_

_ I looked at the graceful, looping letters carefully. Seeing no mistakes, I said, "It looks perfect to me-Where are they?"_

_She pointed with a flourish to three places. "Here and here, the periods are blurred, they look like commas. And here, there's a mis-shaped tail on an R, it looks like a P. Still, it is __a marvelous effort." Her eyes shone with her pride._

_"How long would something like this take to do?" I wondered. _

_ She was almost purring at my touch now. "As complex as this script is, a competent print would take, oh, as many as eight hours." She, again, looked over her shoulder at me, making me pause. "Nella did this in about three hours."_

_ "She's very talented. It's a blessing to have her here."_

_ "My thought, exactly. She is a blessing. Here…" She set that page aside and picked up the next. "What is your first thought when you see this?"_

_ I recognized them right away. In the sketch, she was kissing Nella's forehead. "That's really good. That's you and that's Nella. She drew this? I've always wondered, how does an artist draw themselves?"_

_"She drew a self-portrait, using a mirror, and then using the sketch of herself, finished the work."_

_"My sister draws some. She says self-portraits are the hardest to do," I said. "I can't believe she drew herself that well. What did she name it?" _

_ "Yes, indeed she did. Let's go ask her." Elthina stood and turned to me. "Now, please come with me and observe-We'll talk when we return here…_

* * *

><p>Varric looked up from his notes. "Mum's the word on this too?" He raised an eyebrow.<p>

"Right you are. If this got out, she'd be ruined… and then, my friend, _you'd _be ruined."

"Word to the wise and all that, _got it._" He raised his hands and walked to the door. "Let me see what's on the menu, I'm starved. You staying for dinner? I'm buying."

"Sure, can't pass that up."

He returned shortly with word that the pot roast would be out of the oven within the hour and two plates would be sent up. "Service fit for a king," he sighed and turned to the next page in his notebook. He dipped his pen in the ink bottle and poised it over the page. "Set the scene for me Hawke. You observed the Grand Cleric's house-girl and a sketch…"

* * *

><p><em>I followed her to a room she called The Reading Room. Seated at a table, lit by two oil lamps, was Elthina's house-girl, Nella, working with a quill that she dipped into an ink bottle, touched to a piece of scrap paper and returned to her copying. There was an accomplished speed and economy to her movements. We took a few moments to watch her working.<em>

_ When she finished a line, she looked up and turned to us. "Serah Hawke, Your Grace, Good Even to you." Like most of her kind, she bore a calm, slightly distracted look. The brand on her forehead was a jarring reminder that she was a tranquil. Without it, she might have been called attractive._

_ "And to you as well, Nella. Please, come attend me," she pulled a chair out at a reading table with its own lamp lit. Setting the sketch on the table, she seated her charge and said, "Serah Hawke, here, was admiring your work and has come up with a question-A good one-I think; What shall we name this?"_

_ She looked up at us and then back at the line-drawing. Her unsteady hand lingered over the image of Elthina-Just touching it with her fingertips. She looked up again and said, "Your Grace loves Nella." She looked away in confusion._

_ Her eyes were shining. "Very good!" she winked at me and said, "I like your caption and Serah Hawke does as well." She replaced the sketch with a small book, rubbing Nella's back affectionately. "Now, please read chapter four in your missal and finish your copying to the chapter's end before you turn in for the night." _

_ "Yes… Your… Grace." She said slowly._

* * *

><p><em> When we returned to the study, she picked up her wine glass. "So, Ser… Cale. What do you think?"<em>

_ I hesitated, thinking. Finally, I said, "She seemed ill-at-ease. I didn't think the tranquil did that. Could something be bothering her?"_

_ "That is a sharp observation. They usually don't." She took a sip of wine and considered. "She has always had little fits of agitation, but will calm down eventually. I fear for her sanity-Those fits can be indicative of a coming break-down. Still, she's been with me for four years now and instead of the fits getting worse, they are getting shorter and happen less often."_

_ I held up the wine bottle and refilled our glasses while she pondered Nella's condition._

_ She sighed and continued, "Sister Petrine, Brother Genitivi, and I have researched the subject. We have found three general categories for tranquils: Basal, Domestic, and Higher-Order, for want of better terms. The Basal Tranquil is just that-basic. He tends to excel at menial tasks. Tasks that others… may be reluctant to perform. The Domestic Tranquil can be trusted with more demanding work. Their rudimentary reasoning ability gives them more flexibility than their Basal brethren-They can solve most problems posed to them. And finally, we come to the Higher-Order Tranquil. A true Higher-Order Tranquil is the backbone of the Chantry's day-to-day operation. It's their efforts that bring in the funds we need. Sales of their crafted items are our mainstay."_

_She was more thoughtful, now. "However, their higher intelligence can harbor a cunning, ruthless nature that rivals most non-tranquils. Couple that with no conscience or social values, and you have created a human monster. The Higher-Order Tranquil has no sense of right-or-wrong. He or she needs less supervision, but can also do the greatest harm."_

_ "So, Nella is a Domestic?" _

_ "A Domestic Tranquil," she corrected. "Or, more accurately, she is somewhere between the true Domestic Tranquil and a Higher-Order Tranquil. Her intelligence tests at somewhere between the two. But she retains a Domestic Tranquil title for her, until now, attenuated emotions. We may need to change her title with recent developments, though."_

_ "From all I've heard so far, a tranquil's life is influenced by who they live with. They aren't really good or evil, but can be influenced?"_

_ Her smile returned. "Precisely, with care, they can contribute as much as anyone or with evil influence, can do great harm. That brings us to why I… asked to see you. Have you ever heard of tranquils living outside the influence of any Circle of Magi?"_

_ I snapped my fingers. "Wasn't there a rumor of an apostate that was doing traffic in tranquils? He was in Lowtown, wasn't he?"_

_ "It was Darktown. And he was a Maleficar, a Blood-Mage." She shuddered. "A skirmish in the south end claimed three of our Templars. He… they didn't even get a description, escaped easily, but not before a survivor noted a warrior with a sunburst-brand on his forehead-A tranquil! Bearing arms!"_

_ "Chantry Law forbids anyone from arming tranquils or tranquils from taking up arms themselves, if I remember right."_

_ "Correct," she agreed. "Our research leads us to believe that Higher-Order Tranquils can be possessed by some demons on this side of the Veil. Under the right conditions, it is possible. Some tracts obtained from The Imperium in Tevinter suggest that Maleficar take a special interest in the Higher-Order Tranquil." She sighed. "Be that as it may, I need someone to look into the possibility of a Warrior-Tranquil living in Darktown. If he can be captured… studying him would give us valuable information that we just do not have now."_

_ "Hmm, you've talked to the right man, Your Grace. I can put together a group that can get it done. I can't promise your tranquil will survive, but we'll do our best."_

_ "Then, that is all that I can ask, Serah." She picked up the wine bottle to refill our glasses."Please let me know when you set out. I'll need to prepare the infirmary for our guest…_

* * *

><p>"Set the time-frame up here, Hawke," Varric scribbled his last note and looked up. "That was about the time we were setting up the Deep Roads expedition."<p>

"Right. You and your brother were tied up with family business. You had the finances all set up and we were holding until a trade snarl could be untangled."

"I can't say I'm sorry enough… if I'd gone with you… If we'd only got that bastard Maleficar, then your mother…"

"Let yourself up-What's done is done." he interrupted. "I blame myself for that fiasco. If it hadn't been for Aveline, we'd be mourning Merrill as well." The pain of loss was still sharp. "But let me finish this. You asked me how I knew when I first had a chance with Elthina…

* * *

><p><em>"I'll need to prepare the infirmary for our guest," she said, with a downward glance at something on the table. She picked up her wine glass and drank.<em>

_ I followed her gaze to the sketches on the table. One in particular caught my eye. It was of Elthina in her bath. Her full breasts jutted out saucily. Her nipples were artfully concealed by a froth of soapsuds. Nella, holding her right shoulder, was applying soap to her back with a sponge. The Grand Cleric's eyes were closed in an expression of supreme bliss. She was obviously enjoying herself._

_ "What have we here?" I asked, sliding it out for a better look. "My Lady… Elthina, I am speechless." I held it up to admire its… technique._

_ She looked over my shoulder, and when she saw the image, her face fell. "You are NOT supposed to see that!" Her Chantry face appeared, all business. She held out a hand._

_ "Too late, Lady," I grinned, teasing her. "What's done is done." I held it up to give it a sideways look. When she reached for it, I pulled it away-just out of her reach._

_ She was really getting angry. Her mouth was a thin, straight line. Her eyes, those beautiful grey eyes, were slits. "Do not… do not force me to call the guard," she all but hissed. I couldn't believe it, she actually stamped her foot._

_ My foolish grin stayed in place, goading her. "Hmm, I didn't think of that. Maybe they'd want to see it too. It's very well executed."_

_ Her eyes were daggers. Her mouth trembled as she picked up the cull copy of the Chant of Light and hid her face with it. The young girl in her was still there-It was good to see. _

_ Those dancing grey eyes entreated me over that sheet of paper. "Please? May I have it back?" she whispered. That should have been a warning._

_ "Nay, Lady, I think I'll just keep this." I looked at it again. "Wouldn't it make a nice plate for Our Lady's Left Hand? Sure. The only question is which chapter?"_

_ I wasn't ready for her rush. When it came, it knocked us both over a leather-upholstered divan set away from the far wall. My hands around her waist kept her from tumbling over the other side. The bath sketch landed on the floor behind us._

_ My hands explored the flare of her hips. Then went up her back and paused. "It looks like I've got you right where you want me." I teased her, taking in the scent of rose-water, wine, and healthy woman. The sound of a bell tolling sounded far away._

_ She didn't speak. With a hand on each of my shoulders, she stared intently into my eyes._

_ Gentle pressure on her back brought her face closer. She didn't resist, but she didn't come willingly either. "Come to me, come to me willingly," I coaxed with a whisper._

_ When she lifted her chin, my lips found her throat. Her pulse beat strong, steady. My teeth nipped, making her moan. She stiffened and looked up as the door to the Reading Room opened. My first thought was the changing guard was checking rooms. _

_ It wasn't the guard, it was Nella. "The evening bell has rung, Your Grace," she intoned. "I'll turn down the bed. Shall I sleep in the Annex tonight?" She paused at the bed-chamber door._

_ "No… no dear." She sat up and collected herself. She kissed her fingertips and touched them to my lips. "Messere Hawke was just leaving…"_

* * *

><p>"The story of your life, Hawke," Varric seemed amused. "Always being interrupted. I'm surprised the Templars don't know about you and their renowned leader by then." A knock at the door interrupted him. "Dinner time-It's about time." He went to the door. "When we finish. I want to hear about the Maleficar and the Warrior Tranquil…"<p>

A/N Many thanks to my friend, _Wyl_, for helping me keep the stupid mistakes to a minimum. _C.  
><em>Profuse thanks to _Anesor_ for pointing out some interesting gaps here and there.


	3. Ch 3 Necromancer

The table in Varric's suite at the Hanged Man had been cleared of all but the brandy bottle and two tumblers. The dwarf never stood on ceremony, unless he had something to gain. After tipping the serving girl, he set up notebook and quill to continue his recording of Hawke's story.

He pulled his chair closer to the table and waited. "So Hawke, time to pay for me feeding you. C'mon, give. The search for the Blood-Mage started at your uncle's… _humble_ abode?"

Cale suppressed a belch and smiled. "Merrill, Aveline, and Faust. There weren't many to choose from, went with me. The others, including you, came later. At first, I didn't want to involve Avvy. Her place in the guard was too important to her. That was about the time she was at odds with the captain. Something about guard-pay going missing."

"What doesn't kill us, makes us stronger," he mused. "You were saying?"

"Right, Elthina knew we were setting out that morning. She had the High Cleric's infirmary ready. We couldn't involve the Templars. That would raise too many questions…"

* * *

><p><em>The smells coming from the kitchen weren't very appetizing at all. Mother was probably boiling the laundry, again. Her brother, Uncle Gamlen, doesn't wash clothes. He sends them out to be cleaned-says it's beneath him.<em>

_Then I saw the reason for the smell. It was herbal potions simmering that assaulted my sense of smell. "_Ma' Sarenas _for the use of your kitchen,_ _Hawke," It was Merrill. She held her arms out and did a graceful turn for my inspection. "Notice anything different?" she asked._

_It was the same Merrill, that winsome vision of Dalish elven beauty that we all knew and loved… most of the time. She wore a garland of wild-flowers around her neck and there was something funny about the set of her ears. "Besides your usually pleasing appearance? No," was all that I could come up with._

_She put on a pout that lasted long enough for me to see, then she smiled. She put her arms around my neck and kissed me. "I'm in season," she said brightly. "That's a reason to celebrate!"_

_"_Merrill!_" It was Aveline, though you couldn't tell by the way she was dressed. She was wearing the scarred and dented armor of an adventurer and she was aghast."That's not what we do here in civilization."_

_Her cheerful mood didn't falter. "But… I am _Dalish_, that's what _we _do!" she said, smiling and kissing me again. "The potions should be cool by now. I'll be ready when you… and the _good guardswoman _are," she growled, made a face, and returned to the kitchen._

_"Hawke, what's going on?" Aveline was puzzled. "Is Merrill fit to take out? Will she stay focused, or will we have to watch her…"_

_"Yes, yes… and no!" I interrupted her. "I, we need her on this trip. Her nose for magic is a necessity," I said, looking toward the kitchen with a slight frown. "The Chantry believes there is a Blood-Mage in Darktown dealing in kidnapped tranquils. I was asked to look into it discreetly."_

_"The Templars can't handle it?" She snorted, then looked up at me, embarrassed. "Sorry I asked."_

_"It seems Meredith and her Templar's ability to deal with something sensitive like this was in question."_

_"They do have their own ways," she agreed, petting our family's brindle mabari, Faust, giving his ears a good scratching. "Scorch the area and sort things out later," she grumbled. "Is Muttso, here, coming with us?" She gave his back a good rubbing and stood up._

_"I guess he is, Varric is with Bartrand on family business, something about the Deep Roads expedition. With both his and Merrill's noses, we'll find something…"_

_"What's this about my… our noses?" Merrill was back with her carry-all stuffed with who-knew-what._

_"Nothing, _Merrill,_" Aveline snapped. "We are just glad you're going to be with us. Let's get started." _This will be on your head, _her stern look-in-passing told me._

_"All the talk about tranquils reminded me of something." she set her bag down and rummaged in a side pocket. "Here it is." She held up a paper scroll tied with a bit of black ribbon. "I was… well, lost the other day… again, and I came upon an old woman selling some very interesting reagents. On a shelf in her stall was this scroll case that sang out to me when I spotted it. It was carved from a very dark wood with a scene I like to call _The Keeper and Fen'Harel–TheDread Wolf._" She held it up, pointed to the scene etched into its polished surface, then handed it to me. "Can you believe it? That witch wanted the outrageous sum of twenty silver for it."_

_After I examined the case and handed it back, she continued, "I managed to talk her down to twelve and took it home. It sat on my study table for a week before I got around to cleaning it up a bit. There was a parchment scroll inside that practically fell apart when I took it out. I was lucky to get it all copied, though. This is one of the copies. I made two." _

_She unrolled the scroll on the dining room table. "It's very obscure, even for me. I need help with some of the text. It's Dalish, I can see that, but it's a strange dialect. It's a spell, I think." She paused as if deciding whether to continue or not. "The translation of the title, here, is _One Becomes… _and this word here could be_ tranquil, _because it translates directly as _Proof from Demons._" She looked up. "I'm sorry… it probably means nothing."_

_"No, no dear," I protested, putting an arm around her. "I know someone who would be very interested in this. May I keep it? I'll make sure you get any information relating to it." She nodded. "Let me lock it up and we'll be on our way."_

* * *

><p>"Merrill in season, huh?" Varric couldn't hide the mischievous gleam in his eyes. "That went over well with the guardswoman, I bet. Culture clash with my friend, Cale Hawke-<em>esquire<em>, caught up in the middle." He changed the subject, "Where was your sister? Wasn't this a mage-hunt?" he asked. "It seems she always misses out on the fun."

"Technically, Bethany's not apostate. She hasn't been declared one, yet." He looked up at the sound of footsteps outside the door. "I want it to stay that way. Besides, I don't think her and Merrill get along that well. It's not out in the open, but there's a… tension when they try to work together. It's better she stays home."

"I've never been able to figure that one out," the dwarf said. "Sometimes things just mesh well and then other times… personalities are hard to predict."

"Avvy and Merrill are like sisters. They have their moments, but it's not the same as with Bethany. The elf and the guardswoman work well together. Threaten one and see what the other does. They get on well with the Dog, too, so there's no worry about us all coming back."

"So your first clue was in Darktown…"

* * *

><p><em>I got my usual sense of unease that was D-town as we stepped off the lift. It seems that darkness and misery have soaked into the very stone here. That the ancient machinery, built to lift tons of quarried stone to the surface, still ran was a tribute to its builder. The slavers of Tevinter.<em>

_'Well, Halooo theyyre!" Merrill was rooted in place, it was almost a howl. Her eyes were locked on something across the passageway._

_Aveline had been the first one off. She noticed what it was right away. "Tomwise." Her eyes rolled in that _I should've known _way of hers._

_The elf with that name set a blue stoppered bottle on an upper shelf in his merchant's stall and greeted us, but his green eyes remained on Merrill. "It's Cale Hawke and company as I live and breathe. And who is this elven beauty you bring to me?"_

_"Greetings, Tomwise," I replied. "I'm sure you've heard of our Merrill? Formerly the First of Keeper Marethari?" I turned to our Dalish companion, who ignored me completely, her eyes were still on the merchant. "and Merrill, may I present alchemist and merchant Tomwise?"_

_"First Merrill," he growled her name. "It is my pleasure to meet you." Then he rattled off a phrase in Dalish I didn't catch._

_Aveline's sharp intake of breath caught my attention. She was watching the merchant as his ear-tips lowered and his nostrils flared, giving his features a sinister look. My hand on her wrist stopped her from drawing a blade on the elf._

_Merrill smiled in return."You flatterer." Her answer in Dalish was just as cryptic. She turned to me. "Forgive my rudeness, Hawke. He said I would bear beautiful children and in return I told him he would be a most worthy sire," she whispered._

_"First Merrill, may I make a social call? Perhaps on the morrow eve?" he asked, getting right to the point._

_She smiled at him. "Alchemist Tomwise, I would be disappointed in you if you did not. My home is in the Alienage. In the north-west corner." Her ears had lowered as well._

_"Then I shall be there at sunset," he promised._

_"Now that the niceties are over… Tom?" He was still admiring Merrill. She didn't seem to mind a bit."Tomwise!" I had to raise my voice._

_"Sorry Hawke, was woolgathering." He looked around. "Anything you need?"_

_"Nah. I did find the recipe for the combustion grenade. We haven't been to the Wounded Coast yet. The trail to the formula for the fell grenade leads there. We'll see."_

_"That's one Qunari import I'd like to deal in. Can you imagine the coin that would bring in?"_

_"Not if it's in the wrong hands, Tomwise. The Arishok was right about that. Children shouldn't possess blades."_

_"That's where you and me differ,_ shem_. If hims got the coin, him gets to lead. That's the way of this world."_

_I shrugged, me and Tom would always be friends, even if we didn't agree. I laid a silver coin on the counter and pinned it down with a finger. That always got his attention. "I want to pick your brain. The Templars tangled with a Blood-Mage near here not long ago. Have you heard anything on the street?"_

_He looked around to see if we were alone–We were. "Yeah… but it'll cost ya' one more."_

_I didn't bat an eye at this shake-down, that was just his way. Almost feeling Aveline's disapproval, I stacked another coin and held them both down._

_His eyes dropped from their appraisal of the guardswoman. He obvously didn't trust her. He finally met my gaze and said, "Don't know his name, but sometimes he runs Carta business, mostly smuggling. It pays his bills, ya' know? His den door is only one way. Out, but I know the way in. I had him followed." His green eyes swept the corridor again._

_I took my finger from the coins. They disappeared up his sleeve in a flash. Then he told me where to find the Blood-Mage…_

* * *

><p><em>The entrance was easier to find than Tomwise had hinted at. About half-way down an air shaft that ended in the lowest level of known Darktown, I noticed an uneven course of blocks on a ledge. It was an open door. Someone in a hurry had left it part-way open.<em>

_After pushing it open all the way, I helped Aveline with Dog and entered myself. We made sure there was no-one there, then I helped Avvy and Merrill through the narrow opening. The alchemist had assured me the way out would be easier. We'd see about that._

_The passage was just wide enough for us to walk in single file; Faust was in the lead, then me, then Aveline, with Merrill bringing up the rear. Every few minutes she would back up a few steps and check the rear for followers. Apparently the guardswoman's fears were unfounded. Merrill would be fine._

_The passage seemed to go on forever with few turns. We were covering a lot of ground. Even with the elf's clever mage light that hovered over Dog's withers, visibility was limited. His hearing and sense of smell would be our advantage._

_A sharp bark from ahead stopped us in our tracks. He'd stopped and pointed on a silver stripe painted on the stone floor. It had faded to a shadow. We could've missed it easily._

_Aveline moved aside to let the elf squeeze by as I whispered the one word question that came to mind; "_Ward?_"_

_Merrill nodded and uncorked a bottle she had ready. "Lyrium," she whispered. Pouring a thread of the potion along the stripe caused it to react. It fizzed and emitted a thin, grey haze. Covering her mouth and nose with her hand, she then stoppered the bottle and stowed it away. "Don't breathe it in," she admonished. "Let's go." Once again, Dog took the lead…_

* * *

><p>"Let me get us another bottle," Varric held it upside down. "We need a break anyway. I'll be right back."<p>

When he returned, he had two. Both had Antivan seals that promised a well made spirit was to be had. "Called in a marker. These didn't cost a cent. Where were we?" He was working on the cork stopper of bottle number one.

"My guess, and it's only a guess, is we were three levels down and somewhere under the Dwarven Merchant's Guild. Counting the basement, that would be four levels. I didn't think there was anything below three. The water table is supposed to be at three."

"Huh! You're telling a dwarf about water tables, Hawke?" He looked skeptical. "There's dwarfs that live their whole lives below the table and they never get lost. That's a surfacer concern. Just kidding! That passage ended eventually, right?"

* * *

><p><em>The passageway ended on a raised platform overlooking a large, square chamber. There were two iron-bound oak doors leading out; One was directly ahead. The other was to our left. There were no handles or locks on this side of either door.<em>

_"Looks like a training room." Aveline stood beside me. "Or maybe an arena. Is that blood on the floor? It smells like it."_

_Merrill wrinkled her nose. "It reeks of blood… and Blood-Magic. There's fresh here as well as old."_

_The far door opened and we all instinctively went to ground. Aveline's gentle hand on his muzzle silenced Dog's growl._

_A procession of four entered the room, led by a warrior my size-Of average height and medium build. His blackened chain-mail armor marked him as a skirmisher. His shield and longsword were blackened as well. I could see no herald on his buckler. Following closely was a mage with a midnight cloak and cowl with embroidered gold-thread borders. Flanking him were a man and a woman in the simpler robes that an acolyte would wear._

_The far door closing and the left door opening were well timed. From the left a woman, wearing a simple grey robe and cowl that hid her features, appeared and stood tensely before the warrior in black. She bowed her head to the black mage and waited._

_"Sentence will be passed," the mage intoned. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"_

_She held up her head defiantly. "My Lord Quentin, I ask for an appeal. I would gladly take a _fair _test. A test of my _loyalty _and _ability. _I have been faithful…"_

_"Enough! You have not!" He thundered. "In refusing, you have failed! The test is valid! Barowyn, carry out the sentence."_

_Merrill could take no more. Uttering a despairing NO, she stood and loosed an arcane bolt at the warrior in black. It staggered him, but did not stay his blade. The woman fell with a cry as Faust bounded down the stairs to the right. He was on the Black Mage before I even managed to take the first step down._

_Aveline brushing by me caused me to pause. Who was covering Merrill? A quick look up gave me the answer; She was above us at the end of the passage volleying arcane bolts at all three spellcasters. She'd be fine._

_That left me to face the one called Barowyn. His first charge was a feint that caught me flat-footed. I barely managed to parry a thrust of his blade and then his shield-bash put me on the floor. The spell that Merrill cast slowed him. It saved my life, allowing me to flank him and sweep his feet from under him._

_Aveline and Dog were engaged with the acolytes and had to stand and watch the far door open, allowing the black mage to escape. Before he left, his eyes found mine and marked me. _This is not over. I will see you again, _they promised. The door slammed and a bolt was drawn._

_Barowyn was down. Had Merrill's spells done for him? I wasn't sure. Turning to the last ones standing, I waded in. The woman made a throwing motion towards the upstairs landing and I saw Merrill fall with a cry. I answered that with both of my blades and the woman fell. The fight was over._

_Aveline bounded up the stairs while I looked at the fallen. The prisoner was finished, as were both of the black mage's acolytes. Barowyn still breathed. He was unconscious and bleeding from a shallow cut on his shield arm. As I bound his wound, the sunburst weal on his forehead gave me a reason to smile. Barowyn was the Warrior-Tranquil we were looking for._

_"Hawke, we've got a problem here!" Aveline called from the landing above. "I need to get Merrill to a healer. NOW! I'm taking her to Anders… that's her only hope. You and Dog can handle what's left, right?" Her voice was shrill with tension._

Could it be that bad? _"Alright, GO! Take the way in. You won't get lost. We'll follow when we can." I had to trust her judgement._

_I could barely hear her, "There now, princess, this is gonna hurt, I'm so sorry…" Merrill's moaning cry made me run to the stairs, where I saw her over Aveline's shoulder. Aveline's jade-green eyes met mine. "Maker, give me strength," she prayed and ran out the door and up the passage…_

* * *

><p>Varric was trimming his quill with a sharp pocket knife. "So, you found the tranquil and he was armed. The Chantry takes a dim view of that." He tried the new point on a scrap of paper and picked up his brandy. "Isn't the arming of a tranquil a capital offence?"<p>

"That had me worried, but I had nowhere to keep him. Taking him to Elthina at the Chantry was my only option. When I got to Darktown, the doors to Anders' clinic were locked. No one would answer, no matter how much I hammered on them. I wasn't even sure if Aveline had made it there with Merrill. I finally gave up and took him to the Chantry."

"I can see it now, Cale Hawke, carrying a wounded warrior on his shoulder, stumbles into the Chantry…"

"Not quite," Hawke interrupted. "It wasn't what I expected. Like most tranquils, this one didn't seem to care once the fight was over. He just followed where I led and didn't mind carrying Merrill's staff, her bag, and Aveline's shield."

Varric looked at Hawke sideways. "You disarmed him, didn't you?"

Hawke nodded. "Without armor or a weapon, the tranquil won't fight. No matter how much you try to provoke him. I think it was a part of his training. That may save his life. He didn't arm himself, the mage did that."

"That's a fine point. My money's on the Templars putting him down as an example to the others." the dwarf considered the point. "So, what _did _they do?"

"I wasn't sure where Elthina was at that time. The only way to get in touch with her was to use the entrance to her study. There are two oil lamps hung on hooks in the passageway at the door. One with a blue-glass globe on the left and one with a green globe on the right. There's a recess under each lamp large enough to stash two wine bottles."

"Ahh, that would keep you from appearing at the wrong time. So, you've added _assassin _to your resumé?"

"Nope. That door has a bolt on her side that a stone golem would have a problem getting through. The lamps were a way for her to tell me there was a message in the recess or if she was… busy."

"You've lost me," Varric said, closing his notebook and pulling up a sheet of paper. "Lamps and locks, why not just knock?"

"You know better than that!" he scoffed. "We have a simple system. If the blue lamp is lit, there's a message from her. If I light the green lamp, I've left a note. If both lamps are lit, we must meet right away. She can see into the tunnel before the door is opened. I was in the passage with the tranquil when I lit both lamps…

* * *

><p><em>The bolt being lifted seemed loud to us standing in the tunnel. The blue-green light of both lamps was just strong enough for us to see the door open. The glare from the room beyond blinded us until a face appeared dimming it some. It was Nella. "Good even, Serah Hawke. Please come in. The High Cleric has but a few moments to spare."<em>

_She led us through the Reading Room into the study. Elthina was dressed for a meeting as Kirkwall's Grand High Cleric. Her grey robe and scarlet bodice were immaculate. Just looking at her made my heart ache. She looked magnificent._

_"Good Evening, Serah." She adjusted an already perfect sleeve hem. "Forgive me. I have little time… a meeting with Viscount Dumar. I must not keep him waiting… too long," she said with a hint of a wink. "Do you have news for me?" Her eyes were on my charge, who stood behind me. Did she recognize him?_

_"Aye, Your Grace, indeed I do. May I present…"_

_Her eyes grew wide. She almost looked comical. "Barowyn? It is you, is it not?"_

_He bowed at the waist and spoke; "It is I, Your Grace. Maker's blessings upon you."_

_She recovered quickly, though it was obviously a shock to see him. "And to you as well." She managed a brilliant smile. "Nella, dear, please see our… guest to the Infirmary. Sister Ursina will take it from there. Please tell her to take his history and start his testing."_

_"Right away, Your Grace," she said, leading him from the room._

_"Barowyn… when I sent you, Cale, I didn't realize it could even remotely be him," she mused. "I thought he had been executed in the field. At least that is what Meredith had me believe." She adjusted her robes and turned to the door. "That is a tale for when we next meet. I really must be going. Next week? I'll send a note and we will talk."_

_She led me to the tunnel door. "I cannot thank you enough, Cale. Barowyn means a lot to me." She kissed my cheek before closing and bolting her door._

* * *

><p><em>The entry hall to Anders' clinic was as quiet as when I was last here. No one was near. This time when I knocked, though, the peephole in the sally port slid open and I heard a woman's voice, "It's Hawke, he's alone." The door opened just enough for me to slip through.<em>

_Anders eyed me with some suspicion. He looked exhausted, his tunic stained with Maker-knew-what. "You're the one to blame for this, Hawke?" He crossed his arms over his chest and waited._

_I almost lost my temper at that. "Blame who you want," I snapped. "I am here to see about Merrill and Aveline. They are here, right?"_

_After looking across the room, he let his shoulders slump."I'm sorry, it's been a rough night." He wiped his forehead with a not-so-clean rag. "Aveline was never in danger. She has a bothersome rash to deal with. Merrill… Merrill is another story, but she'll pull through, thanks to a large dose of the Maker's luck."_

_I was at a loss for words. "What was it?"_

_He looked haunted. "She was poisoned… necrotic poison."_

_It sounded ugly. "I've never heard of it," I replied._

_"You have. It goes by the name of gangrene." He sighed. "Most cases I see are caused by improperly tended wounds or poor health, but this is the first time I've had the pleasure of treating a poisoning." He started unbuttoning his tunic. "Let me get cleaned up and we'll discuss it. Go talk to Aveline. She's in the common room. Maybe you can get her to go along with her treatment," he said, pointing to a door across the hall. "I'll be right back."_

* * *

><p>"Damn Hawke, that's some nasty stuff," Varric concluded. "The Chantry sent you after a Blood-Mage, and you tangle with a Necromancer. Their poison arsenal takes evil to a higher level."<p>

"That's what Anders told me. They're just starting to learn how to deal with death magic and its toxins. If Avvy hadn't been there…"


	4. Ch 4 Merrill and Tomwise

_ She was sitting on a short three-legged stool looking out a window overlooking the harbor approach. This far away, the water was still sea-green, not the poisonous brown that stained the harbor. A soiled poultice covered her left side from shoulder to waist. The faint smell of corruption told me that all was not well. It was obviously bothering her. She couldn't keep still._

_ "Hey Avvy, glad you made it," I said. "Anders tells me, thanks to you, Merrill will be fine."_

_ It was like she didn't hear me. She looked out the window, saying nothing. Before I could think of anything else to say, she spoke, "I told you I didn't think she was fit. Why did I let you talk me into going? We almost died out there," she grumbled._

_ Her coldness caught me off guard. "Well… I can see you're… busy," _feeling sorry for your damned self._ My unkind thought finished what I didn't want to say. I left her looking moodily out the window._

* * *

><p><em> Anders was waiting for me in the hallway outside his clinic's Common Room. "Wasn't in too good a mood, was she?" he grinned.<em>

_ "Uhh… no!" I agreed. "Still, considering what she… what we went through, some shock is expected."_

_ "She's in a morbid funk, maybe a side effect of the poison. That infection could get out of hand," he mused. "She needs to snap out of it, needs a swift kick in the ass." He looked at me. "Maybe you could give her that? What do you think?"_

_ I had a ready answer, "Gotcha', I'll be right back."_

* * *

><p><em> "I hope you can do something for her." The tiny woman set her tray with a pile of gauze pads and a blue bottle on a table outside the common room door. "It would make my task a lot easier."<em>

_ "Let's see if this will work," I said, lifting the latch to open the door. "Play along with me. She'll thank us later." After seeing her nod, I entered._

_ On hearing the door open, Aveline pulled her hand from under the bandage and pretended to stare out the window. Had she been scratching? She probably was–Poor thing._

_ "I've gotta be going now," I told her, "Merrill will be alright… again, thanks to you." I paused after seeing no reaction from the woman at the window. "I'll stop by to check on you…"_

_ "Don't bother Hawke," she interrupted. "Come see Merrill if you want, but leave me be!" It was almost a snarl._

_ That's what I was listening for. I rounded on her and let her have it; "Fine, sit here and cry! The next time I need help, you can sit on your fat ass in the barracks and polish your pretty armor. It'll look good on parade." I though for a moment. "Don't worry about honing your sword, though, you'll never need it!"_ That's enough! _I thought, maybe I'd gone too far._

_ It worked. Aveline was furious. She trembled with suppressed anger."Bastard!" was all she could manage."GET OUT!"_

_ "Here, here now…what in the blazes is goin' on here?" It was Tiny, right on cue. "YOU! Leave, NOW!" she cried with an uncertain look only I could see._

_ My hand steadied her tray in passing. "Get outta my way!" I growled at her._

_ "Well, I never!" she retorted, kicking the door shut, almost hitting me. "There now, dear," she soothed._

_ Anders was silently applauding at the entrance to his study. "Very good. I think it worked." He made a face and ushered me inside._

* * *

><p><em> "Just one moment." Anders finished making hurried notes and looked up at me. "Merrill has only one more treatment and, barring mishap, should recover completely. There may be some scarring, but no permanent disability. She was very lucky."<em>

_ "So, she was poisoned? How?" I asked. "What kind of toxin was it?"_

_ "Aveline found a dart, a tiny shard, in Merrill's chain shirt. It probably deflected from her staff and scratched her arm and left rib. It must've had a trace of the toxin, just enough to infect the wounds. At first I wasn't sure what we faced, I had no idea whatsoever. Tomwise has had experience with this kind of poison and he doesn't believe there is a known antidote."_

_ "Tomwise, how did he get involved?" I wondered._

_ The healer replied, "just blind luck, the off-chance, really. When Aveline ran by, he couldn't help but notice Merrill and her condition–He's really sweet on her, you know–and he followed them here."_

_ "Hmm, that's not like Aveline at all. She's normally not that careless."_

_ "Well, in spite of that, she did everything right; She washed the wounds with lyrium before moving the patient and hustled her to us right away, almost killing herself doing it."_

_ "She caught a rash? It's contagious then?"_

_ He was shaking his head, no. "Not in a true sense. Fluid from Merrill's wounds ran down her torso, causing a mild infection. One of our _treatments _took care of that. Now, with care, she'll heal completely."_

_ I was curious. "What is the treatment? Is there anything I can do to help?"_

_ Anders smiled at that and rubbed a thumb and index finger together. "A little gold perhaps? The reagents are costly. Seriously, Tomwise thinks the toxin behaves like _Dragon Bile-_I concur. We've put our heads together and have come up with a cure. We wondered; What if we used a poison on the other side of the spectrum; One that has a known antidote. If we apply it and then use the antidote, would it effectively cancel the active poison?"_

_ I was lost. "The other side of the spectrum?" I asked._

_ His smile was not condescending. "Sorry, we had to select a poison that was chemically the _opposite, _so-to-speak. That way, it would stop what the _Dragon Bile _was doing to her; Killing the flesh from the wound out."_

_ "And it worked. What poison did you use?"_

_ "You won't believe it. It was so simple." He pointed to a green bottle on a shelf in the corner. "Crow poison, it's called _Antivan Green._ The antidote is available anywhere. The procedure is very painful, but it reduced the swelling and slowed the effect almost to a standstill. We used that formula and strength on Aveline and it stopped the rash completely. It should dry up in a day's time and start healing. Now a stronger dose applied as a second treatment should do the same for Merrill."_

_ "Can I see her, maybe just look in for a moment," I asked him._

_ He was thoughtful, considering my question. "I'd rather you didn't right now. I assure you she's fine. She needs her rest, maybe tomorrow? She'll have a busy afternoon and with a night's rest, she will be up to seeing visitors…_

* * *

><p>Varric was shaking his head. "So, now you've got your hands elbow-deep in the healing trade too? What's next?"<p>

"It's not that I had any choice, but I do what I can." Hawke shrugged. "Bartrand already took my share for the Deep Roads expedition, so I wasn't short of money there."

"Yeah, money was never your problem, Hawke. You are always tripping over the stuff." He sighed. "I should be so lucky." He refilled their tumblers and set the brandy bottle back on the table. "So, you went back the next morning after Merrill's treatment…"

* * *

><p><em>The next morning, when I got there, Tiny showed me right in after thanking me for helping with Aveline, who was responding to her treatments, and would be released<em> _tomorrow. How she would deal with her absence from guard duty was left up to her._

_ There were three cots in Merrill's treatment room, with a small table on one side, and a chair near each bed's head. The sharp smell of antiseptic wasn't strong enough to cover the low smell of corruption here. The elf was lying on her right side, sound asleep. She was snoring, which didn't surprise me._

_ "She's doing very well, Anders is pleased with her progress," the tiny woman told me with lowered voice. She exchanged a pitcher on the table and quietly left the room._

_ "The Hawke finally appears," Tomwise remarked. "Where ya' been, _shem_?"_

_ "Places to go,_ important_ people to see… _knife-ears_," I retorted._

_ He adjusted her top-sheet, held up a hand, and gestured for me to follow. When he'd gently closed the door, he said, "I shouldn'ta told you… I didn't know…" He seemed upset._

_ "It worked out, my friend, better than you know," I said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "We found what we were looking for and more."_

_ "And what was that," he challenged, throwing a look at the door to Merrill's room. "Was it worth the risk to your lives? That's not like you at all Hawke!"_

_ "Well for one thing, the Chantry believed it was a Blood-Mage the Templars tripped over in the South End. It wasn't, he was a Necromancer. The poison he used was a clue."_

_ "It was really a venom, A natural poison," he corrected me in an off-hand, distracted tone." Aveline told me the bastard got away from you, did he?" It sounded like an accusation._

_ "Yeah, he did," I admitted. "We had our hands full… he knew the battlefield better than we did." I didn't mention how Merrill had forced the confrontation. What did it matter?_

_ "Humpf!" He glared at me. "Hawke, who is this… Necromancer? Do we _know _him?"_

_ "No one _I _know does. I haven't had a chance to ask… the Chantry." I took a breath and paused at almost revealing my link to Elthina. "A woman he held prisoner addressed him as _Lord Quentin. _Do you know of him?"_

_ "Not by name, only by rumor." He looked like he was searching through memories. "I know a young girl that everyone calls _Fly. _She can go anywhere and no-one really sees her. A coupla weeks ago, she overheard a conversation in Lowtown… Let me see…"_

_ "Take your time, Tom. This may be important."_

_ His face lit up. "That's it, she told me it was a man in black with gold trim. He was talking with someone we all know. Someone who wore a drab hooded robe to hide his fancy clothes, but she could see it was an elf and he was a magician; Her word."_

Could it have been?_ "Orsino!" I said. _What part did he play in this? _I wondered._

_ "Orsino," he agreed. "First Enchanter of Kirkwall's Circle of Magi, the very one. That's why this Black Mage stuck in my memory. She said a large book passed between them and a coin purse changed hands as well. The First Enchanter and a Necromancer, I wonder what the Templars will make of that," the elf muttered. _

_ "They need to know," I thought out loud. "Since he got away from us. He could be anywhere…"_

_ "Beg Pardon, Sers, the princess requests the pleasure of your company." It was Tiny. She'd sneaked by us and prepared her patient to face the new day. She held the door open. "Go right in, kind Sers," she invited with an impish smile._

* * *

><p><em> She was sitting up with her bare feet on a woven floor mat. Tomwise sat on her left side, the hurt side, with me on her right. "Hawke, so you've finally decided to grace me with your presence?" She asked in a husky, subdued voice. In spite of her tired appearance, her eyes danced.<em>

_ She managed a weak smile at my sidelong glance. "Right, they said you gave them so much trouble, I wasn't allowed to see you," I teased, picking up her right hand to stop her fidgeting. It felt cold, so I surrounded it with both of mine. "So _Da'len, _how do you really feel?"_

_ She squeezed a thumb. "I… feel so tired… achy. Aside from that, not too bad. _Tommy-the-Wise _has been watching over me." She picked up his hand in her left. "Haven't you love?"_

_ "Aye Lady, _The Protector_ sent me to keep _The Dread Wolf _away." He looked at her sternly. "_Falon'Din _will have to wait awhile longer for you."_

_ Her luminous green eyes were on him." The Maker has his Dalish helpers, doesn't he?" She asked, giving his hand a healthy squeeze._

_ "So, I'm left out in the cold?" I snapped. The look they both gave me was so serious, I had to laugh. "As long as you're alright," I relented, giving her a kiss on the forehead. "If you need anything… anything at all, just let me know." I stood up to leave._

_ Tom had a protective arm around her, I was glad to see. "You'll wanna speak to Aveline before you go," he threw at me. He seemed to've relaxed when I got up._

_ "I suppose so," I mumbled. I couldn't put it off much longer. Turning to the door, I said, "Take care of my sister, _City Elf._" I pointed back and forth at them and grinned._

_ He caught my meaning. "You got it. Now, get out,_ shem._" When I got to the door, he said, "Take care of yourself, Hawke…"_

* * *

><p><em> I sat down on the bench beside her. Aveline looked a lot better. She smelled a lot better, too. I could not think of a thing to say, so I sat with her watching out the window. A sea-bird was circling above the channel, sailing in the updrafts the cliffs created. Suddenly it dropped to the water and ascended slowly with its prize; A silver fish that looked far too big for it to lift. <em>

_ When it succeeded, my spirits lifted as well. "How ya' doin'?" I asked her._

_ "Fair-to-middlin'," she quietly replied, "yet-to-be-fine. The itching's not too bad, now." She seemed calmer, I was glad to see. "Hawke, I need your help. They're releasing me tomorrow…" She was embarrassed to ask a favor, it seemed._

_ "Put in a good word with the Guard-Captain?" I asked. "Can do. As good as done."_

_ She favored me with a wan smile. "No, it's not that, though I'm not looking forward to facing the ogre." She looked out the window. "It's my… my husband's… Wesley's shield. I left it behind on the battlefield. If I lost it, I'd never forgive myself."_

_ I put on a mask of concern. "Do you remember where you left it? I didn't see it anywhere," I lied. "Going back for it could be a problem. That area's still hot. Quentin got away, you know?"_

_ "No, I don't remember. It was all a blur. It's either still where I picked Merrill up, or it's half-way here where we stopped to rest." She shook her head. "I'm going back for it Hawke, my mind is made up."_

_ I couldn't tease her any longer. "I found it where you treated Merrill. It's at Uncle Gamlen's with her staff and bag. You can pick it up when I walk you home tomorrow."_

_ "I don't have a say, do I?" she asked, looking me dead in the eye._

_ So, she was still sore at me. "Well, we could at least trade thank-you's. Merrill made it, thanks to you."_

_ She didn't say what was on her mind. Instead, she nodded curtly. "I'll see you tomorrow, after sunrise."_

_ I nodded back. At least she didn't say no._

* * *

><p>"All's well… and all that trash," Varric smirked. "I love the happy endings."<p>

"Right, smart-ass," Hawke snapped. "It was months before Aveline got over that, if she ever did. But, it's the price we pay."

"She knew the score. You just don't get off the hook so easy," he said, setting his quill down and flexing sore fingers. "So, how did the Templars react to a Necromancer in their midst?" he asked.

"The Templars never found out, as far as I know," he mused. "My next meeting with Elthina was about a week after I walked Aveline back to the Guard Barracks. A terse note that I knew was from her was delivered to uncle's house; _Come see me tonight, C. _It was signed, _Regards, E._

"Damn, Hawke," he was smirking again. "She's warming right up. Which side of the family did the charm come from, Gamlen's?"

* * *

><p><em>Nella'd just led me into the study and excused herself to let her mistress know I was there. I spent the time studying a copy of <em>The Chant of Light _that was framed and hung on the wall. In spite of myself, I read the entire thing, from start to finish. About half-way through, I felt her presence. The _Grand High Cleric of Kirkwall Chantry_ was watching me._

_ Looking at Nella's smooth writing style reminded me of a question that'd nagged me for quite some time; "Can a tranquil sing or play a musical instrument?" I asked, turning around. Even in an informal dressing gown, she managed to look good._

_ My question seemed to amuse her. "Sadly, no… and yes! Properly trained, a tranquil can master any musical instrument, but their interpretations are… quite drab, soul-less I would daresay." She was thoughtful for a moment. "And they definitely cannot sing… I don't know whether I should tell you this… yes, I will," she laughed at a thought. "My Nella is a howler. Do you know what that is?" Her eyes were on mine._

_ I was perplexed. "No… but I'll bite. What is a howler?"_

_ Her eyes were shining with mirth. "Most tranquils tend to be silent, quite reticent actually. It's just their nature. They seldom vocalize on their own. Nella, unlike any other tranquil I know, will moan softly to herself when she hears music of any kind, especially chorale. It must be something in the voices."_

_ A thought occurred to me; "Our dog does that. Whenever my mother hums a tune or sings out loud, he joins right in."_

_ Elthina was laughing now. "Yes, that's it. At her first Invocation, her moaning during the hymns caused me some concern, but she calmed down and my attention turned back to the Litany." Tears were forming in her eyes now. "Then during the crescendo in the final hymn, the poor dear broke into the most heart-rending howl I've ever heard…" She was laughing so hard at the memory, she couldn't breath, let alone speak._

_ She eventually got herself under control. "I… we were so embarrassed… thank the Heavens Sister Ursina was there to help me." She took a deep breath. "I should not laugh. It is not really funny." She hitched a time or two, then sobered. "It was quite tuneless, but I hope the maker heard her. The Ritual of Tranquility is a mercy, but I wonder about the price one must pay. But where are my manners?" She gathered my hands in hers. "It is good to see you again, Cale. Come, let us share a vintage that's a little different. We have much to talk about and so little time."_

_ She picked up a bottle and unwrapped the silver foil from its neck. Pouring the sample, she passed it over, and watched me expectantly. It proved to be the best red wine I'd ever tasted. At my nod, she poured for us both. "Aye Lady, good wine, good company, it was well worth the trip." We touched glasses and drank. _

_ "I want to thank you again for your efforts on Barowyn's behalf. He is a treasure-trove of knowledge, not let alone about how he was trained or the depth of his ability as a warrior, but also about our newest adversary;The Necromancers."_

_ "So, you know this tranquil?" I asked. "Where is he from, may I ask?"_

_ She hesitated before answering. "It is another tragic Chantry love story. One of far too many," she sighed. "Suffice it to say, Barowyn and a newly minted mage were in love… it did not work out, much to… our shame." She refilled our half-full glasses."Some day, when we have more time, I will tell you their story," she promised. She tried to brighten and managed a sad smile. "So, tell me of your clash with the Necromancer. Quentin was his name?"_

_ I nodded, not really knowing where to start. "If I leave out our elven mage, there isn't much of a story." I wasn't ready to expose Merrill._

_ "Cale, you are among friends," she smiled. "I may represent the Chantry, but I do have my own mind. The Maker wouldn't have it any other way. Tell it all to me, please," she encouraged me._

_ "Well, a source in Darktown set us on the right path and we got there in time to break in on an execution. It seemed that a mage, a woman, refused to take some test Quentin wanted her to pass. Before we could do anything to stop it, Barowyn, under orders, executed her." I looked across the room at the painting of the three scholars. Elthina had aged well. I wondered about her two friends. Looking back at her, I asked, "what will the Chantry do with him?"_

_ "For the execution? Probably nothing. My judgment would be for a stay. Tranquils have no free will to speak of. They will always do what they are trained to do. Quentin, on the other hand, has much to answer for. It is a shame that he escaped."_

_ "It's a given, but he's bound to turn up again. They always do." A thought struck me; "I know Blood-Magic is forbidden by Chantry law. What about Necromancy?"_

_ I had her attention. She was looking directly at me. "Desecration of the dead is the vilest of transgressions to both me personally and to the Maker. But for all of that the pursuit of knowledge to benefit the Healing Art is in bitter controversy." She got up and stood under _The Chant of Light.

_ She took a sip of wine and continued, "I am a scholar, Cale. How do I justify Death-Magic to further our knowledge?_ I do not_. I do not condone it, but neither will I reject any cures that come about because of its existence. Rejecting an important cure just because it is related to Necromancy is beyond foolishness. I do not believe that the ends justify the means, but in most cases, I will go with my heart… with the Maker's blessing, I believe."_

_ "Lady, I love to listen to you preach," I murmured._

_ I didn't think she heard me. She turned and said, "But I digress, dear Cale, to answer your question, the Art of Necromancy is forbidden by Chantry law, despite the wealth of knowledge it fosters." She paused for a moment, then said with a winning smile, "In that case, I lead the End-Month Invocation at sunset on the last day. You are welcome to attend." Evidently she did hear me._

_ I was rattled, but managed to carry on; "Then I have no qualms about sharing knowledge of a poison called _Dragon Bile _that Quentin used against us. We almost lost our mage to it, but… a merchant and a healer in Darktown found a way to dispel the poison," I said in one long breath._

_ She smiled-Maybe at my choice of words. "The study of counter-acting poisons and toxins is ongoing here as well as in Orlais. Knowledge is power, to fall behind is to lose. Any help is most welcome. In our… unique circumstances a written account of your findings would be best. Sister Ursina welcomes interviews as well, but I am sure you understand."_

_ "That, I do_ Your Grace_. I'll get a write-up and get it to you at the note drop. Where it came from is not as important as its benefit," I said with a wink. Pulling Merrill's scroll from a pocket, I said, "In the same vein, this was found by a mage friend in a scroll case she bought in the market-place. She thinks it has something to do with the _Rite of Tranquility._ It's in an obscure Dalish dialect," I warned._

_ She took it and carefully unrolled the paper with a practiced hand. "Interesting, I recognize a few of the phrases. Dalish was one language I studied in school before my Ordination. It has a form that I recognize. It could be either a spell or a formula. Sister Ursina would love to see this. May I copy it?"_

_ "My Lady, you may keep it," I said with a grin. "Merrill's translation of the title is, _One Becomes Proof from Demons_. She wasn't sure about some of the text. She told me she needs help with the language." I looked at her sideways. "As long as you share your results with her, she wants the Chantry to have it." I stretched the truth a little._

_ She tapped the scroll with a manicured fingernail. "I am intrigued by your Dalish friend. Would it be possible for me to meet her?" Upon seeing the face I put on, she added, "It will be just us, Cale," she said with a touch of reproach. "You, her and me… no Templars. I promise."_

* * *

><p>"So said the spider to the fly…" Varric was again being Varric.<p>

"Nah," Hawke objected. "By then, I'da trusted her with my life. If you think about it, I was trusting all of our lives to her discretion. What with Bethany, Merrill, and Anders traveling with us, we'd of been in the Gallows if Meredith ever found out."

"That was something I've always wondered about," the dwarf was thinking aloud again. "Templars are trained to sniff out anyone with even a glimmer of arcane talent, yet _our _mages walk the streets with impunity. What gives, Hawke, you payin' protection?"

"Uh, uh… you couldn't pay Elthina to look the other way. Not that she had much direct influence on the Templars. That was Meredith's domain and she ran it _her_ way." He refilled their glasses and set the empty bottle on the floor. "That night we discussed the Knight-Commander and I learned something about her… and Elthina…


	5. Ch 5 Elthina My Heart or My Vows

"Meredith and Elthina," Varric mused. "Aside from the Grand Cleric promoting her to Knight-Commander, what else do they have in common?" He didn't have a clue. "But before you get into that, back up some. You walked Aveline home when she was released. She must've been pissed…"

Hawke interrupted, "Not really. She's been around and you don't live in a guard barracks for long unless you've got thick skin. It's a matter of survival. She summed it up when we left Anders' Clinic for Uncle Gamlen's house…

* * *

><p><em>The sally port that served as a door to Anders' Clinic closed behind us. <em>_That morning__ the noxious haze known locally as _chokedamp _wasn't as bad as it usually was. A storm, riding a strong wind __the previous night,__ cleared the air in the maze of passages that even a local could get lost in._

_ I joined her at the rail overlooking the harbor approach. It was a good morning for a fresh start. Aveline looked up at the sound of my footsteps. "About the other day… what I said…"_

_ She held up a finger to stop me. "Anders pulled your fat from the fire for you. He told me why you said that." She looked back at the clinic door and continued, "I see what you said as a helping hand and will treat it as that, but there's one thing you need to understand." Her startling green eyes held mine._

Here it comes, _I thought. _Steady on. _I didn't look away._

_ Aveline didn't either. "Hawke, my word is my bond. I've told you I'd be there if you need me, and I _will._" Her eyes finished for her, _don't doubt me!

_My hands were on her sturdy shoulders. We were almost nose-to-nose. "That knife cuts both ways, lady… just call me, I'll be there." I rested my forehead against hers._

_ When she pulled back, her face brightened. "Then we understand each other… let's go." She pushed by me and headed for the stairs, scattering a gang of street urchins at the bottom with a boisterous shout._

* * *

><p><em> Aveline looked up from her examination of the dog. When we'd arrived at my uncle's home, there was no-one there but my sister Bethany and Faust. "He's got stitches. Was he hurt in Darktown that bad?" she asked, scratching the sweet-spot on the top of his head.<em>

_ "No, that was from last night. He tangled with a couple of burglars. Stupid ones, too. Bringing clubs to a dog-fight?" Bethany rolled her eyes. She picked up something that was on her bed. "I hope you like what I did to your shield."_

_ Aveline hefted it and looked at its back-side. "I've never noticed this," she said, pointing to a line of engraving on its tail._

_ Bethany smiled. "I did some research awhile back on arms and armor. It seems that that shield was originally from Orlais. Notice the difference in the sword-hilt cast into its face? It's a lot older than it looks. Apparently it was forged in the Blessed Age." They both looked at the list of names engraved on the back. "Since this was Chantry issue, each Templar to bear this buckler has had his name on there. I hope you don't mind… I took the liberty of adding yours to the list. Right… under Wesley's."_

_ "Thank you, dear. I'm… sure he'd want it that way." The guardswoman set her shield up on the chest at the foot of the bed to see it better. "I like how you've touched up the heraldry, but why… the heart? I can only guess why…" She was at a loss for words, it seemed._

_ My sister pointed to the red fist-sized heart engraved just under the sword-hilt. "Practicality, really," she replied. "Truthfully, you're not a Templar. But a warrior related to the bearer of Chantry issue may claim it by marking it like this." She was obviously proud of her knowledge as well as her work. "This way they can never take it away from you or accuse you of stealing it," she finished._

_ "I don't know what to say," Aveline said, tracing the fine lines of her shield's herald, "but thank you so much." When I stepped up, she turned to face me. "What is that you have there, Hawke, it's beautiful," she breathed, eying what I held out; A sword with an ebony hilt engraved with gold inlays._

_ "Merrill found this on Sundermount before we went to find _Asha'belannar. _She gave it_ _to me, but you deserve it more than I do. I know she'd want you to have it."_

_ "I… I don't know what to say," she repeated herself._

_ "Thank you would fit," I grinned. "It's called _Fadeshear _and it will put a serious hurt on anything that's on the wrong side of the Veil. Here, take it. It goes well with _Trusty_ there_."

_Aveline gave Faust one last pat on the head. It was none too gentle, but he didn't seem to mind. "I've put this off long enough, Hawke, let's go." She settled shield and sword into place on her back and gave little sister a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks again, Beth'… you're a peach." She turned to the dog. "Faust… Sit! Stay… Good Boy!" She looked at me. "Hawke… Today!"_

* * *

><p><em> I was standing outside the Guard-Captain's office holding her sword and shield. It probably wasn't a good idea to stand before the man with a means of retaliation. My friend Aveline was anything but dumb.<em>

_ It was strange that the Guard-Captain's voice was all I could hear from inside. But, then again, the Aveline we all knew would never raise her voice to a superior. She wouldn't feel the need to._

_ "Guardswoman Vallen, you want me to believe that in your off-duty hours, you were helping a _friend _escort some un-named merchant and you were waylaid by _bandits_?"_

_ I didn't hear her reply. The silence stretched out to a couple of minutes._

_ "Bullshit!" he exploded. "You spent three full days absent-without-leave chasing some kidnapped merchant up and down the Wounded Coast? Enough! Do you want to stay with this outfit _Vallen_?"_

_ Again there was silence. Evidently, she'd said the right thing._

_ "Fine, then you're on ninety-days-probation to prove yourself… keep your nose clean, and I'll consider keeping you. Dismissed!"_

Kidnapped merchant? _I mouthed at her when she opened the door._

_ She breezed by, dragging me along by the tunic sleeve. When we got to the notice board in the ready room, she stopped and studied a watch list posted there with great interest._

_ "That's it Hawke. I've got the _bastard_," she said with a lowered voice. "You're coming with me… tonight."_

* * *

><p>"That, she did," Varric enthused. "He was sending payroll pouches out with only one escort. Sounded like pay-offs from where I'm sitting."<p>

"They never proved it, but just the smell of corruption was enough," Hawke added.

"And the icing on the cake," the dwarf was smiling. "Our Aveline was surprised when they tapped her to replace him. That didn't stop some wags from starting rumors about her motivation," he chuckled. "And now, the main event; You learned something about the Grand Cleric and the Knight-Commander?"

"Hmm, Meredith and Elthina," Hawke mused. "Right, Meredith had a sister, Amelia…

* * *

><p><em> Elthina refilled our glasses with her usual flourish. "So, young man, why do you continue to return to listen to an old crone rant?" It sounded like a challenge to me.<em>

_ Smiling, I set my glass down on the table, gently started kneading her shoulders, and replied, "I confess a fondness for… a certain long-winded lady friend." My hands continued their ministrations."I… however, do not agree with her somewhat myopic self-assessment." She sighed with contentment as I went on, "Me? I see an experienced, beautiful, wise, mature woman who's in a tough position of leadership…"_

_ "You forgot patient, scholarly… intelligent… long-suffering…" she interrupted my blather with some of her own._

_ " … and most of all, infinitely modest," I finished my thought, giving up trying to be serious._

_ "Tough position, _indeed_," she murmured drowsily._

_ I leaned over and looked into her uplifted eyes. "How tough could it be for one so able?" I posed._

_ She sighed. "The qunari are one threat we need to keep a watchful eye on. The viscount has that task at the moment, but the Chantry has an ongoing interest in Kirkwall's defense."_

_ "As have we all, Your Grace," I added. "So, Elthina, what's really on your mind? It's not the ox-men."_

_ Her face was a study in concentration. After some time she said simply, "Kirkwall's Circle of Magi." She sighed, sat back, and let my hands work._

_ "So, it's Meredith you're concerned with?" I asked archly. "What is she up to?"_

_ Did she hear me? She sat still, not saying a thing. Finally; "Meredith and Amelia… victims of blind ambition?" she murmured. _

_ "Hmmh?" I leaned over her._

_ She looked up. "Sorry dear, daydreaming." Her eyes cleared. "Yes. Meredith." She picked up her wine-glass and drank._

_ "Rumors about the Knight-Commander are almost legend. Word on the street is that she's at war with the Circle of Magi." I told her._

_ Elthina shook her head in dismay. "Meredith and Orsino," she mused. "You'd think that was a given; The First Templar and The First Enchanter should get along or at least be civil to one another, but that is seldom the case. Personalities get in the way and emotion, rather than reason, often cloud important decisions–life-and-death decisions."_

_ "Isn't it getting out of hand?" I asked her. Rumors of a mage-led revolt throughout Thedas came unbidden to my mind._

_ She made an impatient gesture. "It is nothing to be concerned about. It is most likely a family squabble brought on by some silly misunderstanding. You know how that can be." A thought caused her to frown. "Knowing Meredith's short temper, I will need to watch her closely."_

_ I snorted, "Now, there's a motherless child, if I've ever seen one." _

_ At that, she closed her eyes and looked away._

_ Confused by her reaction, I said; "My apologies, Lady. My mouth runs faster than my common sense at times."_

_ Her eyes found me again. She smiled thinly. "No apology is necessary. In her case, it certainly seems that way, but I can vouch that she has a mother." She picked up the wine bottle, shook it, and set it down. "I will be right back…"_

* * *

><p>Varric looked up from his notes. "Meredith <em>did <em>have a sister and I think her name was Amelia. She was executed by the Templars… the whole affair was swept under the rug by the Chantry–a bloody fiasco from what I've read about it. A lot of villagers died along with Meredith's family before the abomination was taken down."

"That would explain why Meredith is so hard on The Circle. She blames magic for what an abomination did to her family."

"It killed her sister and her parents," the dwarf added. "Too bad it didn't get _her._ Things would be a damned lot easier now."

"Her _adoptive_ parents," Hawke corrected. "Amelia and Meredith were both orphans…

* * *

><p><em> Shortly, Elthina returned with another bottle. She was a little unsteady, so I offered to open it for her. She sat down heavily with a long sigh. "Our Knight-Commander as a motherless child, funny you should say that." She made an effort to avoid my eyes.<em>

_ I was at a loss. "Please pardon me, lady… I…"_

_ It was as if she didn't hear me, "Our Meredith was taken in by the Stannards here in Kirkwall as an orphan, but she does have a mother." It seemed painful for her to say. "A living mother at that," she added._

_ It was like she was far away. I wasn't sure if it was the wine or what she had to say. It was probably a little of both. I fumbled with the stubborn cork, hoping she wouldn't notice. "So, she _does _have a mother." I raised an eyebrow when I saw her watching me. When the damned cork finally pulled free, it was a surprise. "Do we… do _I _know her?" I asked, pouring the sample._

_ Elthina held her glass up to the light, gave it a sniff. "Oh yes, indeed we do," she assured me. "I see Meredith's mother often." She paused to taste the wine and looked up at me as if her mind was made up. "In fact, I see her every time I look in the mirror." Her eyes also said, _So there!

_I didn't know what to say. "You? I never would've guessed," was all I could say._

_ Kirkwall's Grand Cleric looked at me over her glass, drank, set it down. "Most of the population here know that Meredith was raised in a foster family. She was sponsored by the Chantry, so she wanted for very little growing up." Elthina looked into the fireplace. "A few here in Kirkwall, mostly those in the Chantry, know Meredith had a sister, Amelia, who died young. Some even know the truth; That Amelia was possessed by a rage-demon… and was executed in combat by the Templars, but not before she killed the Stannards and some seventy other villagers." Elthina's cool detachment was almost perfect except for the sorrow that showed in her eyes. A single tear ran down her cheek._

_ I took her hands in mine. They were cold. _

_ Before I could say a word, she continued; "There are two things that no one knows, but me; That Amelia and Meredith were twins and that I gave them up for adoption."_

_ "No one knows," I mused. "Does Meredith know who her mother is, may I ask?"_

_ "You may." She tried to smile. "Unfortunately, no she doesn't. A condition of their adoption was that they would never know who their birth-mother was."_

_ "A blessing _and _a curse, all rolled up in one," I said, raising the wine bottle."A blessing for Kirkwall's Grand Cleric, but a curse for the woman who is Meredith's mother." After she'd placed her hand over her glass, I refilled mine and set the bottle down._

_ "A delicate balance, at best," she agreed, looking up from her hands. "I suppose all this was a preface." She smiled at the sympathetic look on my face. "Remember my promise to tell you of Barowyn?"_

_ "How does he fit in?" Then it hit me; "Him and Amelia?" _

_ "Barowyn and Amelia," she murmured. "Their story is more personal than most myths, half-truths, and outright lies you hear about Kirkwall's Chantry." She paused to absently finger her wine glass's stem, then she continued, "While it is true that Amelia became an abomination, the why of it is still a mystery." She looked longingly at her empty glass and refilled mine, then hers. _

_ "So, Amelia and Barowyn were both mages. Meredith fits in there somewhere?" I raised an eyebrow. "What about her, she had no talent?"_

_ Her smile was wistful. "It is not unusual for twins to be so different in that way. They may look alike, but seldom do both have what some call a gift and others call a curse. My Meredith, I named them you know, didn't have much of the gift, but she did show the talent to make a brilliant Templar. That is why she has ascended the ranks so quickly."_

_ I made a stab in the dark; "Taking a guess, I'd say Meredith was jealous of those two." I intended it to be a question, but it came out as a statement._

_ Elthina was quiet. She had to think. "Until lately, I would have vehemently objected to the assumption. Meredith was just a Templar then… she _was _involved with putting the abomination that… was once my Amelia down." She chewed a thumbnail as she considered. "If memory serves me well, Barowyn was condemned before that…"_

_ A thought occurred to me; "Could that be what pushed Amelia over the edge? Was it really a rage-demon that possessed her?"_

_ She shook her head. "Reports from that mission were not clear on that point. Accounts from three separate sources simply stated _demonic possession. _We can only assume that particular one fed on her rage." Her wine glass seemed to take her interest._

_ I wasn't sure how far to go. "Didn't you tell me that Meredith had you believe the tranquil was killed?" I watched her reaction carefully._

_ I could see suspicion dawning on her face. "Yes," she said, drawing it out slowly, "that is why his re-appearance surprised me so. Sister Ursina's interview of Barowyn was interesting, to say the least. It seems he was abducted by the necromancer…" She looked up at me. "Why would Meredith cover that up? I've always had trouble believing that the Templars would execute a tranquil, unless he was possessed. And he never showed any signs of being anything but tranquil," she ruminated._

_ "So, the whole story hinges on the Knight-Commander."_

_ Elthina heaved a sigh. "Meredith's involvement, aside from her part in the actual battle, never did come to light." She looked across the room, studying the portrait of Andraste. "Was she involved in a love-triangle? Was she a spurned lover? We may never know." She returned her gaze to me, raised her glass, drank. _

_ Stepping behind her, my hands again found her shoulders. "The Maker has a way with testing our faith, lady, doesn't He?" _

_ Mmm, yes," she purred. "I am at a loss trying to make sense of what has happened. Most of the actors in this sad tragedy are at Andraste's side now. Meredith and now Barowyn are still with us, true, but neither of them is very forthcoming. The tranquil has no memories to speak of, and our Knight-Commander has an interest in silence, it seems." she managed a tired smile. "I suppose patience is a virtue in this case. Something may come to light… eventually, Maker willing."_

_ I slid my arms around her, taking her hands in mine. "My problems seem smaller now. What can I do to help?"_

_ Her smile gladdened my heart. "Just you being here helps," she said. "Knowing that you will come if I call eases my mind. It is lonelier here than you would think. Thank you so much." She looked up. "Yes dear, what is it?"_

_ "Please pardon my intrusion, _Your Grace._" It was Nella. "The Captain of the Guard is waiting in the atrium. The Knight-Commander wishes an informal audience."_

_ "What is it now?" she wondered under her breath. "Very well Nella, please show Cale to the door. I shall see what is troubling our First Templar…_

* * *

><p>"It's just like you, Hawke," Varric opined. "Put out with the cat. Why am I not surprised? Is that why you were so distracted… <em>huh<em>, downright cranky when we finally got to the Deep Roads? A little frustrated, were we?" he didn't bother to hide his mirth.

"No." It was almost a bark. "Nothing like that. It seemed that our… _friendship_ was attracting attention. Attention from within the ranks of the Chantry. There was and is a power struggle going on and Elthina is determined to face it alone."

The dwarf was thoughtful. "Unless it's involving the Circle versus the Templars, I haven't a clue. Spell it out for me, that is, unless it's privileged."

"It is," Hawke replied. "But you're a friend and I trust you. I can speak for both of us-Elthina and me- when I say the truth needs to be told, but it's influence can be devastating now. You know the score."

He nodded solemnly. "Got it. You don't need to worry about me. This all is in code until the time comes for the truth, then my time in the sun begins." He grinned. "Sorry Hawke. A little levity here?" He paused to reflect on the power the champion had just placed in his hands. "You were saying?" he asked.

Cale pulled a single-page note from a pocket and carefully unfolded it. It had been re-folded so many times, it was almost in pieces. "I got this from her the day before we left for the Deep Roads." He passed it over without further comment.

Varric watched his friend carefully and only when Cale nodded and pointed to the note did he look at it and start reading;

_My Dearest C,_

_It was certainly a pleasure to see you again last night. I always look forward to the time we steal to see one another. You see, I have grown quite fond of you, do not ask me why-I could not tell you. How you have broken down my barriers, I cannot say, but I am glad you did!_

_A question that torments me; You, Dear C or my beloved duty? My heart or my vows? Why must I choose? Can I not have you both?_

_You have helped me far more than I could ever elucidate-Where are the words? Aside from P and G, you are one I can truly talk to-I need never fear your judgment, though we do not agree at times._

_Now to the point; Complications have arisen. Discretion demands that we are not seen together for awhile-A very short while is my fervent hope._

_Perhaps I should explain. I feel I owe you that; It seems that my eldest daughter has been asking very pointed questions about you- And about me. Is she looking for an us? It is most likely so._

_Now, I must close. Try to understand, Dear C; I am afraid I must face her scrutiny alone. The decision was not to my liking. Please forgive me. Please be patient.  
><em>

_Our Maker's Blessings,  
><em>_My Fondest Regards,  
><em>_E._

Varric carefully passed the note back. "So the Knight-Commander is on the prowl. Would she have the stones to buck up against the Grand High Cleric?"

"Seems like it. The Grand Cleric is the only check on the Templar Arm of the Chantry. Elthina is the only person in Kirkwall standing in her way."

"This may be outta line, Hawke, did you send her an answer?"

The Champion of Kirkwall nodded. "Yeah, I did. I forgot the exact wording. Something like; 'You're not alone. Call me and I will be there.'

The dwarf smiled at the thought. "Somehow, that's not so hard to believe."


	6. Ch 6 Petrice To the Wolves

It wasn't an unpleasant way to wake on a day of rest. The soft light of dawn filtered in through a hole in the covers thrown over her head. If it wasn't for this damned headache, she'd look forward to getting out of bed. Too much cheap wine-Too bad the Chantry didn't stock anything worthwhile. It's not like they couldn't afford it.

A smooth hand, un-callused by manual labor, caressed her back, causing her to shiver. Then she felt his lips on her shoulder. At the pain, she winced-Her lover was a biter. "Easy, love," she murmured. "Not above the collar."

She'd found the boy, he was barely into his manhood, at the Circle Archive where he served as a page. Part of a mage's training was in the creation and preservation of the written word. The Kirkwall Chantry seemed awash in it; Letters, missives, scrolls, and books were everywhere. Like most Circle Acolytes, he was eager to please. He even believed the line about her being a short-cut to his Harrowing-His final test as a mage.

A sharp rap at her door made them both freeze. Then it was yanked open. "Morning Sister." The templar eyed them with some speculation. "Not interrupting, am I?" He laughed when the boy ducked under the covers.

"No, Varnell," she said coldly, sitting up and pulling the top sheet around her nakedness. "What is it you want?"

He considered what he was seeing. "Are we working our way through chapter three of Our Lady's Left Hand or just turning _pages_?" he mocked his former lover.

She couldn't speak. Her flush gave her away. All she could manage was a furious glare.

His victory won, his face became grave. "Sister Petrice," he said, with a bow, hands crossed, "It's at the safe-house. They've returned from the Wounded Coast with something I think you should see."

She managed to regain a little of her composure. "_Who_? Varnell!" He had her full attention.

He calmly watched her, then said, "A Qunari mage."

Her current lover all but forgotten, she threw off her covers. "Wait for me in the Ready Room. I'll be right down."

* * *

><p>Sister Petrice had set up a safe-house in Lowtown as a base for her operations. There were four templars assigned to her to aid in her various duties, which included gathering intelligence from sources here and below in Darktown. Though her primary interest was in rooting out apostate mages, the presence of the Qunari here took up most of her time. Her sisters and brothers at the Chantry and the templars at the Gallows, where the Circle mages were quartered, would have called her obsessed with them if they knew…<p>

He wasn't what she expected. Their prisoner was a follower of the Qun, but he was the biggest she'd ever seen this close up. A ragged mask of gold, or was it brass? covered most of his face. How could he see through the tiny slits where his eyes should be? A huge collar that could double as a yoke was chained to a belt that was cinched much too tightly about his waist. The weights on his wrists looked massive.

That he was bound was obvious, but it could all be reversed except for what had been done to his horns. They had been roughly sawn off to a finger's width from his skull. The uneven stumps oozed a clear-yellow fluid that ran down the sides of his mask like recently-shed tears.

Sister Petrice thought she'd seen everything, but never had she seen anything like this. She couldn't bring herself to look away. In spite of his humiliation, the Qunari mage's head never bowed. "Where… where did you find him? How did you get him here?" she wanted to know.

"We found him on the Wounded Coast. He came along well enough," a Templar standing in a corner of the room answered. "It's almost like he's a tranquil. He does what we tell him to." He shrugged. "When he saw me pick this up, he started following me around." The templar held up what looked like a short dagger with a round, clear, crystal blade.

The sister took the control rod from him and hefted it. It weighed much more than she thought it would. The eyes behind the mask followed her hands as long as she held it.

"The ox-men 'ave the right of it," a voice from the far corner of the room opined. "Look at 'im-meek as a lamb. There's not a spark of rebellion in 'im. What that would do to 'uman mages eh?"

The sound of their coarse laughter irritated her, though she did agree in principle. An idea that had been nagging her for some time now made sense. Checking her pocket for a coin purse, she said, "Varnell, come with me. You others, stay and watch our… _guest_…"

* * *

><p>Standing outside the safe-house at street level, they both looked across the central square in Lowtown. Most of the dwellings here were set on terraces overlooking the street. A flight of stairs led from each terrace to the street below. This time of day very few were out and about. Another couple of hours and the streets would carry their daily freight of humanity.<p>

Three seedy looking characters appeared and carefully approached them from an alley leading up from the waterfront. Their street clothes were plain, but of better quality than most you'd meet here. They kept hands in plain sight, no weapons were visible.

Their leader stepped up and gave them both a once-over look. "A fella' told me you're lookin' for some muscle?" he addressed Varnell, ignoring Petrice.

"Yes… _I _am looking and paying well for _muscle_," she said, fixing him with a cold stare. "And I expect some _brains _to go along with it. You've made your first and only mistake in my employ. _I will brook no more_." She crossed her arms and waited.

"I din't mean nothin' by it," he replied, glaring back. Seeing her face, he looked away. "Right then, you're in charge, _Serah._" Evidently her Chantry robes didn't impress him.

"Fine, then." She exchanged a knowing look with the templar. "Here's what I want you to do. Listen carefully."

* * *

><p>"You can't go with us." Aveline blocked the door so the dog couldn't get out. "Take the day off, boy. You can play with <em>Uncle <em>Gamlen. Doesn't he look_ lonely_?" Faust agreed with a cheerful bark and bounded back inside. After seeing Gamlen's sour-faced reaction, she grinned and closed the door firmly.

Aveline joined Hawke, Varric, and Merrill, who were standing together at the entrance to an alley that led to the harbor. Their attention was fixed on a woman in Chantry garb talking with a local character. His dress and demeanor suggested he would do most anything if the price was right.

When he spotted Aveline, the local put an arm around the woman's shoulder. "We don't want to hold this lot up, do we?" His crooked smile showed uneven teeth. "Let's talk over here." He led her into a side street.

Varric settled Bianca with a shrug, steadying her stock with his right hand. "Is it just me, or is there a smell of _rodent_ on the breeze?"

The elf took the bait; "_Ugh_, the stink of this place is …" Her face fell. "_Ohh_, those two. Do you think he will…"

The dwarf smiled. "_Yes_, _Daisy,_ we think he _will_." Varric looked up at their leader. "Hawke, do we play fly-on-the-wall or do we charge right in? It's your call."

He wasn't sure. "Let's hang back here and watch. Something's not right. It may be a trap."

"Trap or no-trap, she needs _our_ help." Aveline's mind was made up. Drawing her blade and shield, she disappeared around the corner.

* * *

><p>When they managed to catch up with Aveline, the trap closed. Three slaver thugs had followed quietly behind and blocked the street and any thoughts of retreat. This side street ended at a storm drain covered with a rusty iron grate. A wisp of foul smelling gas wafted up from where the sound of dripping water echoed.<p>

Stairways to the left and right of the cul-de-sac led to walled terraces that would cover the whole street. A quick look revealed to them all-Hawke, Aveline, Merrill, and Varric-that both terraces were occupied. It would soon be raining missiles and, maybe, spells.

The woman from the Chantry was lying in the street with two thugs standing over her, going through her pockets. At Aveline's anguished cry, they turned and drew their weapons.

Although time slowed to a crawl, everything seemed to happen at once. Hawke and Aveline rushed the thugs in the street, while Merrill, seeing the three coming from the alley, loosed off a controlled Mind Blast. At this close range, she had to be careful of Varric bringing up the rear. The full effect of her power could be lethal. The dwarf and the others here had been exposed to mind blasts before and could shake them off in a few moments, not so with their assailants. Two of the thugs following them fell to their knees, while the third stood with his head in his hands.

With the three immediate threats taken care of, she formed a fireball and hurled it at the two bolters hiding on the right terrace, putting them out of the fight for good. The left terrace was deserted, so she shifted to the rear, after making sure her skirmishers in front were still in the fight.

Hawke and Aveline had their hands full. Literally. He, dual-wielding two of the finest blades to be found in Kirkwall and she, with her husband's buckler and a legendary longsword called _Fadeshear, _faced the two thugs in the street. Though it was an even match in numbers, the gang leader and his second were impressive fighters. Standing back-to-back, they refused to give any ground.

Without warning, a bolt from the left terrace fell short, hitting the second in the shoulder. That was enough for Aveline's shield-bash to put him on the ground. Before he could raise his guard, he was run through.

The leader's mistake was to turn on the guardswoman. Hawke's longsword finished the fight with a half-hearted back-stab. He was surprised when the thug fell-He thought he'd missed.

A bolt caroming off her shield woke Aveline up. Covering the woman lying in the street, she called, "Varric!" and pointed to the left terrace, "crossbow!"

It was a long shot for him, but the dwarf lined up Bianca on the head on the left terrace and fired half a hand high. The hardened steel bolt struck a spark where the head had been just a second before. He cursed, Bianca seldom missed, but at least Hawke wasn't being fired on.

The threat to their rear was no more, a Chain Lightning spell had done its work. Merrill saw Bianca miss and was determined not to. Her next fireball splattered over the chip in the wall left by the bolt. The tortured scream told them all the elf didn't miss. The fight was over.

Hawke had the woman sitting on the bottom step leading to the right terrace. She seemed unhurt except for a knot on her head where she'd been knocked unconscious. Her cool grey eyes… her face, were familiar. Where had he seen them before? If not for the severe cast to her features, she looked perpetually angry, she could be called an attractive woman. The anger now showed in her voice. "You've killed them. Why did you kill them?"

"They would have killed _you._" Merrill was beside herself, barely in control of her anger.

"Sister, we thought they _did _kill you," Aveline broke in. "What are you doing out here _alone_? You should know better."

"I… I need help. I need someone who knows these back-streets," she admitted. "Varnell, where have you all been?" She looked up at their approach.

"Hmmpf, she's not as helpless as she looks," the dwarf mumbled.

She seemed to have collected herself. "Be that as it may. I need help. I can pay, and pay well. My safe-house is on the north side of the square. There's a sunburst over the door. I'll be there if you decide to take my offer. You'll gain some coin and the gratitude of the Chantry as well." She turned away. "Varnell, you and the others get this _mess _cleaned up. I'll be with our _guest._" She left them standing there, without even looking back.

* * *

><p>They all watched the woman from the Chantry walk to the corner and turn left. Hawke seemed more interested in her departure than his companions. There was something in her bearing–The way she walked. Her voice, in spite of its severe tone, captivated him as well. It reminded him of someone he knew. The only problem… <em>who<em>?

Varric examined Bianca with a critical eye. Seeing nothing that needed attention, he slung her on his back with one smooth movement. "So, _boss,_" he quipped, taking a long look at Aveline, "you should be getting close to the fifty sovereign mark. One more job and we'll go speak to Bartrand, then he can't say no. What do ya' say?"

Cale watched the templars cleaning up the mess. "I dunno, something's not right about this one. What do you all think?"

Merrill sniffed, adjusted a belt that just refused to sit right, "Agreed, there's something about that woman I don't like. Where's the rest of the story?" She gave the offending belt another tug, causing Aveline to step up and untwist it for her. The elf smiled her thanks. "Still, she's from the Chantry. It can't be _that _bad, can it? They have more rules than enough, right?"

Varric rolled his eyes. "Hardly a ringing endorsement, _Daisy_, but hold that thought. I've always had a keen nose for _nugshit_, and right now, I've got a snoot-full." He watched as Varnell and his two templar helpers finished disposing of the bodies down the sewer, slamming the grate. After a curt nod to Hawke, they left the way they came. "You're awful quiet, _don't call me_ _Red, _what's your take on this?" the dwarf asked her.

"A plan gone wrong…" she said in a distracted voice, looking at the corroded grave marker. "Were those thugs _supposed _to die? And why would the templars, of all people, dispose of bodies like that?" Aveline looked up at Varric. "Did you see the sister take a coin purse off the leader's corpse?"

The dwarf hadn't seen it. "No. Maybe_ they_ took it from _her,_" he supposed. "She was just taking_ her_ property back?" He didn't sound very convinced.

The guardswoman wasn't convinced either. She shook her head . "_I _say we follow it up. There's too many _little _things that just don't add up. Is the Chantry behind her, or is she on her own?"

"She wasn't mugged?" Merrill wondered. "So this was more than a robbery? What else could it be?"

"We don't know. That's what we're here to find out, _follow me_!" Aveline looked at Varric, then at Hawke. "Well?"

He looked at each one. "If you're all in, I say let's do it." When they all nodded in turn, he held up a hand. "Guardswoman, after you."

* * *

><p>After rapping on the door and getting no answer, she looked at Hawke. "Do we wait, or just go in?"<p>

"Trouble may have followed her home. We go in."

Aveline pointed to the sunburst and lifted the latch on the safe-house door with a free hand. Although the door wasn't bolted, she paused to look back. "All set?" She locked eyes with Merrill, who nodded and stepped to their right.

Varric, on the left, grunted affirmation without being asked. Bianca was out and ready.

With Hawke's off-hand on her back, Aveline opened the door and stepped inside.

The two templars were caught flat-footed, but the guardswoman was just as surprised as they were. They stood in tableau, weapons drawn, glaring at one another. Standing outside, Varric looked at Merrill. "_Hawke,_ you're _screening_ me," he warned.

The door to an adjoining room was pulled open and a woman they all knew stepped out, breaking the impasse. Dismissing the templars with an impatient wave, she spoke, "I thank you for coming. This matter is delicate and I need someone… of limited notoriety who will not link this to me."

Hawke stared at her. _The Grand Cleric, she sounds like Elthina! _He shook his head. _Damned fool! They're all trained orators. Stop jumping at shadows, _he chided himself.

"_You _don't want to be _linked_… what have you got to hide?" a voice that could only be Dalish came from near the front door. A pair of luminous green eyes peered out over Aveline's shoulder.

"_Shh_!" The guardswoman backed up a little, pinning Merrill to the wall to silence her protest.

"It is good you have a… _healer. _The task I propose may have need of your _talents. _We see so few of the Dalish _gainfully employed_. That is an interesting _walking staff _you carry." Her eyes were on Merrill.

"How astute," Hawke complimented her. "Our Merrill is very good at what she does. She collects reagents for the Circle." Four pairs of eyes watched the Templar leader's reaction.

The woman from the Chantry shrugged and then continued, "the task at hand is to escort a… mage, but I think you'll agree, the nature of the party makes this… _unique._"

Hawke looked at her intently. "If this is _criminal,_ I already have enough trouble to deal with." He raised his voice to cover the dwarf's grumbling.

Her eyes were on Varric, but she addressed Hawke, "If you agree to my proposal, I should think you're about to have more." She opened the door to an adjoining room. "I am Sister Petrice. _This _is my burden of charity."

They all looked up as he entered. His presence dominated the room–the mask, the collar… his mutilated horns, did not diminish his presence at all.

"_She'va dhal,_" Merrill's voice broke at the sight of him.

Aveline slipped off her left gauntlet and reached back. Her searching hand found a slender wrist, which she gently squeezed. The wrist slid in her grip and a hand clenched hers. Merrill was silent.

Satisfied with their reaction, the sister continued; "Would even a templar bind a mage like this?" Not waiting for an answer, she looked up at him and continued, "A survivor of in-fighting with their _Tal-Vashoth_ outcasts. I call him _Ketojan, _a bridge between worlds."

Varric caught Cale's eye by pinching his nose between thumb and forefinger, then he tipped a sly wink.

Petrice was warming to her subject; "The viscount, and… _others,_ feel that peace begins with _appeasement. _Without _my_ intervention, this mage would likely be returned to his brutal kin."

She stood before the giant mage with her hands on her hips. Looking up at him, she said, "However, he can serve a better purpose." She turned to face them again. "_I _want him _free._ He must be guided from the city without alerting his people, or being seen in my care."

Hawke held up a hand. "It seems a worthy cause. Why distance yourself from it then?"

She hesitated. "My order could be accused of exercising its self-interest. Though the Qunari presence is more than a test of faith–it is an open challenge–I… _we_ cannot be linked to it. We _must_ remain neutral. I am sure you understand."

Hawke had an answer. "I've had dealings with the Qunari leader. He'd want to know of this. Why not return the mage to him?"

Petrice had an answer as well; "If you have interacted with the Qunari, you _know _how they treat those who leave their heathen order. The Arishok would doom this poor creature. This mage will be a fine example of how cruel Qunari are, even to their own, but only if this plays out _just so_."

"Finally showing our_ true _colors, are we?" Aveline asked under her breath.

Ignoring her, Petrice continued; "But knowing_ them _is useful. They know _you_ as well. Attacking an ally would only confirm their barbarism." Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "You are still right for this task. What say you?"

"We can get him out of Kirkwall, but he is a bit conspicuous for the streets." Hawke spoke for them all.

"Taking the streets is obviously_ not_ an option. You must avoid incident with the _guards,_" she said, studying Aveline intently. "I… the _Chantry_ cannot be linked to this." She led them into an adjoining room and indicated a stairwell in a closet. "The passage here leads to the warrens of the Undercity. It is dangerous, but that is why _you _were hired. Return here when you have released him. Good Luck!" She closed the door behind them.

She didn't hear Varric's comment. He was the last one to descend the stairs; "Hawke, this isn't going to turn out like she wants, is it?"

"No!"

"Then it might just be worth-while to tag along." The dwarf hurried to catch up.

* * *

><p>AN Many thanks to _Wyl _and _Forgotten Vice_ for their assistance in editing. _Wyl _for his no-nonsense nuts-and-bolts logic and ~_Vice _for her style. _C._


	7. Ch 7 Petrice From the Wolves

The safe-house, Petrice's safe-house they'd learned just three days ago, still looked the same. The sun-burst plaque was there over the front door. Despite the ornament, it fit the fetid, gray atmosphere that surrounded Lowtown.

Strange that there was no-one on the streets this evening-not even on the terrace adjoining Uncle Gamlen's house across the square. Mother's chair was out, but she wasn't there. She must've been inside fussing with the evening meal. With a pang, Hawke turned and faced the others standing at the safe-house door. "My mind's made up. After what's happened, this is the only way it will work," he stated.

"I don't like it. Hawke, you are _not _going in there alone. There's no telling what that scheming _bitch _will do." Aveline stepped over, effectively blocking the safe-house door. "Varric, don't just stand there. Talk to your hard-headed friend."

The dwarf winked at her, then looked away. "Hawke… as much as I hate to cross a member of the guard, I have to agree with you. Knowing the Chantry, the templars would see muscle and respond in kind. I can't see a peaceful end to this if we all go in there…"

"_I _say we _all_ go in there." Merrill interrupted him. "She deserves a good _thrashing_ at least, maybe more." The admission seemed to have embarrassed her. Seeing them all watching her, she pressed on; "Did that mage, the Qunari called him _Saarebas, _deserve death? Did we deserve to die, _do _we deserve to die for _trying _to do the right thing?"

"Daisy, Merrill…" Varric looked up at Hawk, then Aveline for help. "You misunderstand. The whole point was to give him the freedom to do what _he_ wanted…"

"To die? Is that what he _really_ wanted?" She looked back and forth from Hawke to Varric. "I don't believe that!" she stated. "We _fought_, we _bled _for his _freedom_… and he died anyway." Her eyes were brimming.

Hawke sighed. "Merrill, we did the _right_ thing, but we were _wrong._" When she looked up, confused, he continued, "he was a follower of the Qun. He never lost sight of his purpose. His only choice was death. We… know that now."

"No!" She refused to believe.

"Did you hear what _Saarebas _told me before he ended his life?" he asked her gently.

She wouldn't look up at him. She shook her head sadly.

Hawke had a far-away look in his eyes. "You were tending our wounded and didn't hear what was said. He stood at the cliff-top after the last of his Qunari brothers fell," Hawke related. "He was _free._ But only for a moment, it seemed. He was _unbound,_ but it felt_ Odd… wrong… _ He called me _Basvaarad_, one worthy of following. He thanked… us for our intent, even though it was… _misplaced._"

He took Merrill's chin in his hand to look into her eyes. "No matter what I said, it made no difference. All my arguments, he deflected. He couldn't choose to '_not be._' He knew the will of _Arvaarad-_The way of the mage. He had to return as demanded. It was the wisdom… of the _Qun._ He was, and always would be… _Qunari._"

"Hardly what you'd expect of heathen barbarians, is it?" Merrill looked up at the Chantry symbol mounted over the door. "It adds strength to what Saemus insisted about his Qunari friend when we found him on the Wounded Coast."

Hawke held up an amulet the size of a gold coin linked to a leather cord. "This and his final words; 'Take this secret thing, _Basvaarad. _Remember this day.' are all we have left." He looked intently at the unevenly polished charm in the palm of his hand. The minutes spun out. "Remember this day," he murmured.

"Hawke, let's go!" Aveline had run out of patience.

The spell was broken. He looked up."Merrill, I want you to have this. You were the heart of our Vimmark Mountain journey." He smiled. "You've earned it."

Her shy smile was like the sun coming out. She held up a hand. "On one condition. Take it with you inside and tell that supposed _Child of the Chantry_ what it means to us. That the Maker watches over all of us, the faithful, the Dalish, and even the heathen Qunari." She ducked her head. "Sorry… I'm babbling again. We can wait here outside, I suppose."

Varric grinned. "Well said, Daisy. I didn't think you had it in ya'"

"So we agree, I go in alone?" he asked, looking at Aveline, who finally nodded.

"Humor me," she said, giving Hawke a direct look. "Leave the door off the latch. If I don't like what's happening, I'm coming in."

"Will do." He wrapped the leather cord around his off-hand, lifted the latch, and stepped inside.

* * *

><p>He stood just inside the door for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the near-dark. The only light was coming from an adjoining room through a half-open door. He heard a voice that he knew, "Clean it <em>all <em>out. I want no trace…" She'd pulled the door open to see an apparition standing there. A man in oiled-leather armor, with two ornate sword hilts visible over his shoulders, watching her intently. His blue eyes never left her face.

She marked him as a thief, a housebreaker, before she recognized the man she'd sent on a one-way mission. Pasting a tentative smile on her face, she addressed him; "So, my friend, you have returned… and you are _alone._ I certainly hope you haven't suffered any casualties, but knowing the Qunari, I can guess the outcome of _our _efforts. Are your… _friends _still with us?"

Cale Hawke didn't return her smile. He studied her for a moment, then took a longer look at her templar partner. "I'm _not _alone, no thanks to _you. _They're waiting outside."

The templar bristled. "Watch your mouth, _Fereldan. _Do you know who you are speaking to?"

"It is alright, Varnell." She turned to her visitor. "Please speak your mind, so we can clear up any misunderstanding."

Her reply wasn't a surprise. "They are well, _Thank you,_" he replied with a civility he really didn't feel. Hawke could play her game as well. "_They… _want to do unmentionable things to _you _for sending us to a certain death." He watched her for a reaction, but her expression of concern never faltered. _Damn, she's good,_ he thought. "I agree with them, but I tend to be more civilized. That's why they are outside. You deserve the benefit of the doubt." He looked at the templar, but addressed her; "_You _sent us out knowing that a _Qunari Antaam_ was being led to the mage." he accused.

Her look at the templar was stern. Was there a hint of anger in her eyes? She held her hands out. "I had _no _idea Ketojan was being followed. It was _my _understanding that the mage was found among the corpses of his… countrymen. When he stirred and sat up, Varnell here, got quite a shock." She looked up at her companion. "He thought the Qunari and the _ Tal Vashoth _were all dead. Not knowing what to do with him, my templars brought him here."

Hawke wasn't convinced. "And you know nothing about that Qunari patrol that was waiting for us when we left the cave coming from the Undercity?"

"_Nothing!_" She exchanged glances with the templar. "Perhaps the _Tal Vashoth… _had something to do with that. They would have the most to gain…" She dismissed it with an impatient wave.

"You'd better hope the Qunari don't find out about that patrol, or you're involvement. The Chantry wouldn't stand for _that. _Check Lady, Watch your queen." Hawke warned.

Petrice smiled. It was almost feral. "And Check again, Serah! From where I am standing, you are all in a tight situation. How will you explain slaughtering an entire Qunari war-party searching for their rightful property? I do not think their _Arishok _would smile on such senseless aggression …unless they are the ones doing it."

Hawke went to the door, then turned back. "In case you're interested, we freed him. He gave me this," he said, holding up the amulet. "Just before he immolated himself. If he had lived, it would _not _be as a follower of the Qun. Can _you _say that Sister? Would you _do _that? How strong is _your _faith?"

She didn't seem to have heard him. Her eyes were on the charm. "Is that… a _Talisman of Saarebas_?" Awe and fear warred on her face. "I will buy it. How much?"

"It isn't mine. Sorry, it's not for sale." He pocketed it and changed the subject. "You know, the Qunari and you templars aren't so different. You are both deathly afraid of a mage's power. Just a mention of being near a mage put that _Antaam _on the path to a confrontation. After that, the talking was over."

"You _talk _to them," she scoffed. "What _good _does that do? What do _they _know about… being _civilized?" _she wanted to know.

Hawke smiled-A predatory smile. "Civility? They don't show that to an enemy, Sister. They've drawn a line and damned if you didn't step over it. Thank the Maker that they don't know what you're doing here… yet. Do you really want a war with the Qunari? Hasn't history taught you? Fighting is the break-down of diplomacy." He drew his off-hand blade, causing every sword-arm in the room to find its pommel.

Looking her in the eye, he gouged a line in the wooden floor, drawing the point across just short of her toes. "Here is _my _line, Sister," he almost snarled. "Do _not _cross it!"

She didn't bat an eye. "You have done what I asked, so you have earned_ this._" She threw a bag of coins at him. "Watch that _mage _you travel with, they can _never _be trusted. Know that _I certainly _will."

He surprised her by snatching it from the air before it hit him in the chest. "I'd be careful about throwing the Chantry's weight around." His eyes held hers. "What would the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall say if she found out what you've been up to?" Her startled reaction answered Aveline's question; _Is she acting for the Chantry or on her own? _He pointed a finger at her. "Check!" He closed the door on his way out.

* * *

><p>"So, where's her head?" Varric wanted to know.<p>

"More to the point, Hawke. Where do we stand?" This was Aveline. "We don't want war with the Qunari." Her face lit up. "Is that why we spent so much time burying bodies and cleaning up?"

Hawke just smiled. "The _Good Sister _has the moral high ground in this. Who's going to believe a band of mercenaries?"

"Don't tell me she's won." Merrill was indignant. "We risked our lives…"

"No, not quite." He was thoughtful. "I'd call it a stand-off, a stale-mate. Petrice won't say a word and the _Arishok _won't find out what really happened. He has an idea the Chantry is involved, but no proof."

Merrill looked at Aveline and then back at Cale. She didn't understand. "So, why doesn't Petrice, how do you say it… go public?"

"Sister Petrice wanted to hold you, Merrill, over our heads, but it seems she's operating outside her authority. I wasn't sure about it until a few moments ago. That's why she can't say anything about it."

"Hmm, turn the Chantry, maybe all of Kirkwall against the Qunari," Aveline mused. "It all fits now. We spoiled it by not dying, I suppose."

He handed the talisman to Merrill. "She's been checked for now, but let's keep an eye on her and her templar friends. They may target our keeper, here."

The elf smiled self-consciously. She settled the talisman's cord around her neck and said, "Nothing _we _can't handle."

* * *

><p>Hawke turned over in his sleep. He'd tossed and turned for hours before finally drifting off… …his dream was so vivid, it seemed real…<p>

_ …Nella had just shown me in. Not seeing Elthina, I waited in the atrium for something to happen. "She's in the bath," Nella called from the reading room. "She is expecting you, go right in."_

_ I heard her voice humming some tune as I made my way through the bed-chamber into the changing room. The bathing-room door was ajar. A wisp of rose scented steam led the way._

So much for propriety, _I thought, putting an eye to the door. _

_ "Adding voyeur to our resumé?" she asked in a teasing tone of voice._

_ "There's so much mist in there, how can I see anything?" I said through the door._

_ "Well, there is certainly a cure for that," she said, standing up for me to get a good look… _

"Good Morn' Serah Hawke." the houseman pulled open the curtains to let in more light. "Time to rise and shine." He turned and studied the lump under the covers.

"Same to you, Bodahn," the lump replied. "No chance of getting a few more winks, is there? What's that dog yapping about?"

"Sorry Messere, no chance of that. He's all excited. A few of his friends… of _your_ friends are here. We don't want to be rude now do we?"

"Perish the thought." Hawke still didn't throw the covers. "On the serious side, how is mother?"

Since Bethany's catching of the darkspawn taint in the Deep Roads and being forced to join the Grey Wardens, their mother had refused to come from her room. No matter what he did or said, her fury remained unabated. She laid the blame firmly on her eldest son's door-step.

"Well, she's eating, at least. That woman from next door came to visit. They are… how do you say it? … putting their heads together. I don't know what it's about, though."

"I'm glad she's not alone." His voice was muffled by the blankets. "Why is everyone here? Is something going on that I don't know about?"

Bodahn considered the question. "No, the Guard Captain said something about a personal favor she needed and that Grey Warden fellow, Anders, was rather tight-lipped, he will only talk to you about it." His face lit up. "Oh, before I forget-Mistress Merrill sends her regrets. Her work with the looking glass takes most of her time, now. She says even Tomwise is getting short-tempered. She will make it up to you. She promises."

"That damned glass is a hazard. She's so obsessed with it… Well that's Tommy's concern now." Hawke sat up, eyes tightly closed to the bright light. "Have you seen Varric? He's taken his brother's betrayal hard. Can't say I blame him."

"He's just arrived. A late evening, it seems. There is news of the traitor's whereabouts, so he says. The others have been here awhile. Mother's _restorative _is in his cup this very moment." The houseman turned with his hand on the door-latch. "There is a note for you-it looks official-and I took the liberty of heating the bath, Messere. Your casual clothes are laid out in the dressing room. Break fast is in the warmer, waiting your arrival. The day awaits."

"Thanks Bodahn, I'll be right down." Feeling the urge, he padded to the necessary, then the bathing-room.

* * *

><p>The note looked official enough. There was the great seal of the Viscount of Kirkwall on the letterhead. In stiff prose, it requested the presence of one Messere Cale Hawke at Viscount Dumar's office as soon as possible. <em>Damn, when it rains, it pours.<em> Hawke couldn't help thinking. _I'll get it all done… eventually._

"Aveline, Anders, and Varric," he raised his voice over the murmur of conversation and the dog's barking-both Sandal and Aveline were playing with him. When it had quieted some, he continued; "It seems we have more to do than time to do it." He looked at each and finally settled on the dwarf. "I have to ask that we hold off personal tasks and tackle this first." He waved the note to get their attention. "Varric, I know how you feel. Following up our lead on Bartrand's whereabouts is next. Then Anders, your search for reagents will get done. Aveline… your patience is appreciated. Somehow we'll get it all done. I promise."

Varric looked at the floor. "An old dwarven saying; 'Revenge is a dish best served _cold.' _It can wait." _But not for long, _his uplifted gaze added.

The Guard Captain seemed downcast as well. "Last-but-not-least, eh Hawke?" Her affair of the heart would have to wait.

"All I can say is thanks for staying the course." He ushered the way out. "Bodahn, we'll be at the Viscount's Office and then, parts unknown."

"Fine Messere, me an' the boy will be here. We will keep an eye on your mother as well. not to worry." He closed the door behind them.

* * *

><p>The Viscount's Keep was an imposing stone edifice built to house Kirkwall's City Guard as well as its Administration. The Guard Barracks and Captain's Office were to their right, while the Viscount's Office and Quarters were two flights of stairs up to the left.<p>

The door to the sitting room, where citizens with appointments waited, was closed. A knot of restless nobles milled around, voicing their displeasure at having to wait for an audience. Upon seeing an armed group approaching in the company of the Guard Captain, the guard at the door saluted and stepped inside. "One moment, Captain."

The man the guard returned with introduced himself as Seneschal Bran. Unlike the guards, he was dressed as a noble and seemed fussy about his appearance. After a stern look at Aveline, he glanced at Hawke's note and beckoned them inside.

"Excellency, Cale Hawke and Company. About the Qunari problem?" When the viscount stood Bran continued, "As I was saying, their compound was not meant to be a permanent… home. There are concerns that the Qunari influence is… no longer contained."

Viscount Dumar, the titular head of Kirkwall, was an imposing figure. His above average height and stern countenance went along with his shaved head and direct gaze to tell all that he meant business. "Was it ever?" he challenged. "Kirkwall has tension enough between templar and mage, but these Qunari…" He focused on his seneschal. "They sit like gargoyles, waiting for Maker-knows-what, and everyone goes mad around them." He shook his head. "Nearly four years have I stood between fanatics."

He walked behind his desk and shuffled some papers. "Knight-Commander Meredith at my throat, First-Enchanter Orsino at my heels, and the whole of Kirkwall scared half to death of heretical giants." He turned to face his visitor. "I've run out of answers, intelligent solutions evade me, but now the Qunari leader, their _Arishok, _has requested _you. _By _name._" Dumar was puzzled. "What did you _do_?" He leaned forward, waiting.

"What _didn't_ we do?" the dwarf wise-cracked.

_Excellency, I hope you never find out, _ran through Hawke's mind. He shrugged. "I managed to get his attention a couple of times. Maybe I impressed him, if that's even possible, but that was years ago. I'm surprised he remembers."

The Viscount searched Hawke's face. "That makes _no_ sense… but it really doesn't matter. I just want them _quiet._" He paced the room, thinking. "Well, I remember how you helped my son. That is why I called for you. It seems you were meant to have influence well above your station."

Hawke heard a snort from behind that could only be Aveline. _Steady, girl, _he thought at her.

Dumar stopped in front of them. "Speak to this _Arishok. _Give him what he needs to keep the peace . Can you do that for Kirkwall, Serah Hawke?"

From the look on Aveline's face, he could imagine her head exploding. "Excellency, _We _are at your service. _We _are always willing to assist," he said.

"That is an attitude this city has lacked for a long time. Appease the Qunari. Take their demand and let them return to dormancy. As awkward as it seems, it is far better than the alternative."

"Until you have to face it in the end anyway," Varric's voice was pitched for Hawke's ears alone.

Kirkwall's Viscount hadn't heard, or at least he pretended that he hadn't. "Return when you finish. It will set our minds at ease." He sat once more and shuffled papers. He looked up. "Bran, see them out please."

A/N Thanks to _Forgotten Vice _for getting me to see some sense. In the end, all will be well, My Lady.


	8. Ch 8 Interlude Elfas Lunaticus

The heavy doors to Viscount's Keep closed behind them. The Gray Warden glanced up at its imposing facade, the symbol of Kirkwall's might. "Cale… Hawke, I need to speak with you." When they stepped into a corner formed by a tower and the frontispiece, he continued; "Please don't take this the wrong way. I can't go with you."

Hawke watched Aveline and Varric standing in the square, looking at the walls, looking at each other, anything but them. "That would put us in a bind. With Merrill home-bound and my sister with the wardens, we don't have a healer, much less a spell-caster. Can I ask you why?"

"How do I explain?" He had to think. "Remember our talk about the spirit of Justice becoming Vengeance?" It was becoming hard for him to speak. "It seems the Qunari are as bad as the Chantry in the way they treat their mages. They may even be worse from what I hear of your last… _encounter_." His gaze found the dwarf who was in an animated conversation with Aveline now . "Cale, if you really need me, I _will _be there, but… I must warn you. The spirit of Vengeance may come forward, as he often does in a fight. And my control of him is tenuous, at best. He knows how I feel about helping either the Chantry _or _the Qunari." Anders held up his hands in a helpless gesture.

"Understood. Thanks for being honest about it. We'll make-do, somehow. You won't hold helping them against _us,_ will you?" he asked with a wry smile.

"Oh no!" the warden said a little too quickly. "So, no hard feelings?"

Hawke shook his head. "Standing up for your convictions is no vice, my friend." A thought occurred to him as he watched Anders turn and walk away. "Hey, as soon as we find Bartrand, we'll go look for those reagents, right?"

He turned–a smile lit his face. "Sure thing, I'll be at the clinic. See you then." His steps seemed a little lighter.

Varric watched the retreating figure. "Hmmpf! So Blondie's _crapped _out? What's going on in his life that's so important?" he grumbled.

"It seems he lumps the Qunari with the Chantry when it comes to how they treat their magic users. He has doubts about helping either of them."

The dwarf was upbeat. "We can scrape by. I've still got three combustion grenades left. Even _I _could play mage with _them._ A few healing potions and we're set."

Hawke had four left. "I could give two to Aveline. That should be enough. Let's stop at uncle's and pick up Faust. He'll fill the hole in our group."

"An even trade, in my book." Varric grinned. "Sorry Hawke, couldn't resist." He adjusted Bianca's harness and took off. "Let's get a move on, _Don't Call Me Red, _daylight's wastin'."

* * *

><p>"Serah Hawke." The Qunari leader in Kirkwall settled himself into a seat that would've accommodated two humans. As it was, it fit him with little room to spare. He uncrossed his arms and patiently waited.<p>

Cale Hawke stood at the foot of the stairs leading up to the terrace reserved for the Arishok's quarters. "Messere, you wish to speak to me?" According to Qunari custom, he kept his hands in plain sight.

Every warrior's eye was on the human brought into their presence. No one moved, except their leader, who leaned forward and spoke; "I _do_." He took a moment to scan his troops. "Last we met, I did not know your name. Did not _care_ to."

"Here it comes._ Wait _for it." Varric mumbled under his breath.

"_You_ have changed your fortune over the years." He frowned. "The Qunari have _not._" He sat still, hands on his knees. His eyes did not. They scanned the courtyard, almost daring anyone to move. "I offer a courtesy, Hawke." After seeing the human nod, he continued; "Someone has stolen what he thinks is the formula for _gaatlok_… you will want to hunt him."

Hawke held up his hands. "Forgive my ignorance, but what does this have to do with me?"

"Because you know this man." The finger the Arishok pointed was almost an accusation. "Because of _his _ignorance and greed, thousands _will _die."

"Someone _I _know." It was a statement, not a question.

It _is._ The stolen formula was a decoy. It was _saar-qamek–_poison gas, not the explosive we know as _gaatlok._"

"Poison gas?" Hawke mused aloud. "How deadly is this stuff?"

Was that humor on the Qunari leader's face? "A small amount is dangerous enough to _your _kind. But if made in any quantity… perhaps by _someone _intending to _sell _it…" He let his statement hang.

"Brother tin-_shit _Tintop?" Varric ventured a guess.

"That _merchant_… Javaris?" Hawke couldn't believe it.

The Qunari wouldn't affirm or deny. "Would he be cautious, or would he assume success and make enough to threaten a district?" he wondered aloud. Seeing their confusion, he concluded; "A courtesy, Hawke. You _will _want to hunt him." He sat back to watch them.

Hawke turned to Varric and Aveline. "Any idea where we can find Javaris?"

"I hear about the sell-off of merchant territories and such all the time. They don't do that unless someone leaves in a tearing hurry, though," Varric supplied. "In Tintop's case, I just thought he rooked some noble and had to leave until things cooled down."

Hawke was watching Aveline-She had something on her mind. "So, no idea where he is?"

"I haven't kept up on the squirt. Ask the Coterie." The dwarf dismissed it with a shrug.

Aveline finally spoke up; "I can help there. The Coterie has a contact that they call The Barker. She's usually set up somewhere in Darktown. Lately it's been near Tomwise's stall. Let's start looking there." She turned to leave.

The Arishok was standing on his terrace overlooking their exit. "_Panahedan, _Hawke. I do not hope you_ die_."

"When we get to the bottom of this mess, we'll be back," Hawke assured him.

* * *

><p>When they stepped off the lift at the lower level known as Darktown, Aveline noticed Tomwise's stall right away. It was deserted. All the shelves were bare and the floor was swept clean. "I'll give you three guesses where our elven Lothario is and the first two don't count," she wisecracked, following the passage to the left and down the steps to the main gallery.<p>

She looked both ways before turning left and paused at the next intersection. "Right here," she said, pointing right. "Just past that mine cart. That was where she did her business every day. It's a lot easier to slip away–Four different directions to choose from, including an air shaft next to that cart."

They continued on, then down another flight of steps. "And so our observant guardswoman leads us farther away?" Varric couldn't help himself. "Now she'll tell us it's part of her plan."

"Right, we're dealing with Coterie here. Hawke will get a better reception if he's alone. Am I right?" She was sure of his answer.

He winked at the dwarf. "Right, now why didn't I think of that?" He thought for a moment. "Still, it makes me wonder why she's been here this long."

"Probably the Guard's reluctance to come down here, unless there's a whole squad of them…" Varric continued their teasing.

"We'll wait for you on the harbor side," she said, ignoring the dwarf's gibe. "You'll find us in the gallery that leads to Anders' Clinic. Be careful. It's quiet now, but that can be misleading. I tell my troops that these walls have eyes as well as ears." Her, the dwarf, and the dog moved on, while Hawke retraced his steps.

* * *

><p>He heard her well modulated voice before turning the corner; "Turn up your purses, Kirkwall. The leases of Javaris Tintop are up for grabs."<p>

She'd repeated it once again before he came into sight. She was dressed in unadorned light leather without hat or hood and didn't look like she lived here in Darktown. No weapons were in sight, but he was sure they were there. She'd be a fool otherwise.

He wondered if she remembered him, probably not. It was a long time ago, when he'd first come to the city and joined the smugglers who competed with the Coterie. He and Bethany worked for a year to get enough to pay his family's way in. "You're selling the assets of Javaris Tintop?" He smiled at the though of how lame his question sounded.

"Well Cale Hawke," she smiled in return, "_good _to see you. _That _we are. I don't need to tell_ you_… with limited districts and limited contracts, it helps to keep our territories clear and separate from the start." Her eyes left him to scan the passageway. "He had a meager lot, but he's skipped with dues outstanding, so _up_ it goes."

Her reserved look told him that she did indeed remember. He sighed. "There's a lot riding on finding him. I know we didn't see eye-to-eye… but can you help me out here?"

She looked away. "The members of _our_ little fellowship expect a little privacy. It's what we are selling, in a way. But he skipped on paying _me _too." She didn't look too happy about the admission.

"Maybe if I made… _restitution. _You'll never see anything from him now," he sympathized.

The two sovereigns he gave her raised an eyebrow. "Well, well… Somebody wants him more than we do… _no, _don't tell me." She took another quick look around and said, "Javaris left in a hurry. I'd put him at Smuggler's Cut, if he's aiming to avoid patrols. It empties at a cave just outside of town. You know it?"

"Oh, do I," he replied, his smile returned. "Like the back of my hand." He winked at her and made his way to the Harbor Approach Overlook.

Before he got to the corner, she called to him, "Hey Hawke… Thanks for covering my losses. I won't forget. _When _you find that deadbeat, tell him for me; 'Don't come back. Good will only goes so far. It takes _coin_ to get anywhere in this selfish world_.'"_

Varric was waiting with Aveline around the corner in the next gallery. "Hmmph! Not the trail I'd expect from a _master _thief… just saying," he remarked after Hawke filled them in on where they were going. The dwarf shrugged and led the way to the trap door that would take them to their destination.

* * *

><p>"What is it boy?" Aveline turned back toward the cave's mouth. Faust was standing quietly, watching. He wasn't growling, just alert. "I can't figure it out. He's been restless since we entered the tunnels." She pulled <em>Fadeshear<em> half-way out and re-seated it in its scabbard. A nervous habit she wasn't even aware of.

"If I know our canine friend, he's telling us we're being followed," Varric replied, scanning the trail ahead. It ran down-slope and curved to the right before ending in a clearing surrounded by rocky hills. "I'm more concerned with what's ahead here. I smell ambush. What do you think, Hawke?"

"Good chance, look." He pointed across the clearing to the opposite hill. The thin wisp of smoke from a poorly made fire marked a camp-site. "I wouldn't bet against you. It's too quiet here. Aveline, on point?"

"Right," she sighed. "Let me try out this new armor. See if it's worth the small fortune spent. C'mon Muttso, you wanna live forever?" Both guardswoman and Mabari trotted down the path to the clearing.

"Heads up, Hawke," Varric murmured. "She's drawn them out. I'll hit left. You see them on the right?"

"Got it." He unlimbered his bow and stepped a few paces down the trail to cut his angle. "Wait for Aveline." He set an arrow and pulled a few times to get the feel.

She was kneeling beside the hound with her hand on his shoulder, scanning the clearing and the camp-site beyond. She stood, released the dog, and followed closely behind, drawing sword and shield as she ran.

At Aveline's call Varric loosed off three steel-tipped bolts and moved to the left of the trail, leaving Hawke to cover the right. Two archers fell and a third ran for cover while the dwarf reloaded Bianca.

Hawke's duel with the archers on the right kept their heads down, but he was needed for the fight on the path. Aveline was surrounded by four mercenaries and was holding her own, just barely. As soon as she knocked one down, another got back up.

The dwarf's angle to the clearing was off, so he targeted with Hawke on the right. Faust was still in the fight, his snarls could be heard all the way up the path. The guardswoman wasn't alone. With some help from his friend, Hawke eliminated the threat from the right and they turned to help her.

When they followed the path to the clearing, they got a shock. Surrounding Faust and Aveline was a band of ten mercenaries. The only open path was back the way she'd come. With a sinking feeling, they fired and reloaded, not really seeing any effect.

Aveline and the dog had retreated to the end of the path when the unmistakeable roar of a fireball made them look up to the left. There was a mage on the hill, but who was it?

The hill on the left offered a good view of the entire clearing below. From this vantage point, their new ally, hidden from view by the heat-shimmer, hurled a devastating meteor followed by a chilling blast of cold. After two pair of his arcane one-two punches, the tide of the battle turned. Taking advantage of the break in the line, Aveline and Faust advanced into the clearing forcing their attackers to retreat, helped by arrows and bolts from her friends on the hill.

The mercenaries' disorderly retreat turned into a full rout. With a curse, their leader left the field, taking his remaining fighters with him.

A lone dwarf stood at the end of the far path with his back to his attackers. "Come back here, you sodding cowards…" He was interrupted by Faust knocking him flat. The dog threatened him, but refused to attack. "Call him off! Call him off!" He held his hands up to ward off the menace.

Hawke stood over the dwarf and offered a hand up. "Calm yourself, _Javaris._ We've called him off. You're not dead, _yet._"

After he'd regained his feet, the dwarf dusted himself off, still not taking his eyes from the Mabari, who watched him with some interest. "_You_? Granny's garters, she _would _hire you. I can't _buy_ a break, even without a discount."

"Looks like your granny was the smart one who _did _hire us, right?" Varric smirked. "And what's her garters got to do with us?" he challenged.

Varric, he ignored. "You know what?" he asked Hawke. "Go ahead! Take my head and pike it back to that sodding elf! I need the rest." He threw up his hands and tried to glare at them all.

"Come on Javaris, come clean. Elf, what elf?" Aveline had some trouble following the dwarf's story.

"You brought this on yourself," Hawke reminded him. "Who else do we know that would steal the secret for black-powder?"

Javaris Tintop closed his eyes. Pinching his nose, he shook his head, then looked up. "_Wait_, you're tracking for the _Qunari_?" He slapped his forehead with a palm. "Then she did it, She _really _did it! That elf got them after me to cover her stealing the powder! _Bitch-born_!"

"Umm hmm, I knew he was no _burglar. _Who ever said us dwarfs were climbers?" Varric wanted to know.

Encouraged, Javaris continued; "_Look_… I'm minding _my _business, same-old-same-old, and, out of the blue, some elf I don't even know tries to kill me." He held his empty hands out. "So, I brace her about it. Says she's got the Qunari powder and I'm her _cover. _Her cover, the stone's sake. So I slipped her, hired some body guards, and ran for it." He looked at the dog balefully. "And now you're here. _Great_!"

Hawke had a way out; "If you're innocent, you could plead your case to the Arishok."

He shook his head and snorted. "Let's break this down. An elf who took the explosives wants me dead, part one." He looked around at his dead bodyguards. "Part two, the ox-men think I'm the thief and they also want me dead." His hang-dog expression got an evil smile from both Varric and Aveline. "Either option seem promising… didn't think so either. Look, whatever you want, I'll give. Just let me go. What do you say?"

Aveline had been looking at Hawke, who nodded at her. "You want a deal? Tell us where this enterprising elven con-artist can be found, then you can go," she proposed. Faust chuffed in agreement, or was he disappointed?

"Fine. You want to drag dark into light? Why am I not surprised. I had one of my hired men follow her. Never know when you'll need to follow up on a deal. That double-dealing elf-bitch is in Lowtown. The street leads down to the harbor. Now, if you don't mind, I just want to get the Stone out of here… with my dead bodyguards. A thousand thanks for that."

Hawke watched the dwarf loot bodies. "Better luck wherever you're bound Javaris. The farther, the better."

"_Right_. Got me a rosy future to plan out, _sodding bunch of… take a long breath on a short shaft you… blasted dog-lord in-roaders,_" he mumbled. "Think I'll start by selling some boots…"

* * *

><p>"All of you. I can't fight the <em>damned <em>air. You want to _live_? Stay _out_!" Aveline in the lead, after hearing the voice of a guard, pushed her way through the crowd standing outside an alley leading to the square in Kirkwall's Lowtown.

She recognized the guardsman who'd spoken. "What's going on, Maecon?"

The crowd quieted at her tone. "Guard-Captain! There's… I can't even describe…" He looked back over his shoulder, then back at her.

Her stern face softened. "Take a deep breath. On _your _time, son."

He collected himself and squared his shoulders. "I got reports of some haze with the stench of rust and… _throw-up_." He took a long breath. "When I got here, there was a cloud, then a… lingering mist." He looked at the crowd, who'd pulled back when they recognized the Guard-Captain. "Anyone caught in that cloud just went mad. Then the others just retched themselves to death."

"It'll be alright. Return to your post. We'll take it from here." She joined Hawke, Varric, and the dog standing at the stairs leading down.

"One thing is in our favor." Varric was pointing at something below in the square. "That lift shaft seems to be pulling most of it down to a lower level. The mist is right at knee-level. We'll have time to find the source."

Aveline surveyed the mess. "That's the crux of the matter. Where's it coming from?"

"See those three barrels set up against that far stairway?" Hawke asked. "There's a cover off of one. Varric, stay here. Your nose is too close to the ground, my friend. Faust will watch your back, right boy?" The dog agreed heartily.

"No argument there, Hawke." The dwarf grinned. "Don't worry, Bianca will be watching." He scratched the dog behind the ears and readied his weapon.

* * *

><p>"That's the last one," Hawke said as he tamped the cover in place on the fourth and last barrel and seated the latch in its slots to hold it.<p>

"All that bloody work to have ya' just take all them lids off agin'." The gang leader's sarcasm got their attention. He eyed them with disdain. "Get to it, then. Unless you all wants to die…" A bolt through his back finished his statement. Bianca had spoken.

There were more thugs than Hawke expected. They seemed to just keep coming. Him and the Guard-Captain didn't seem to be making any headway. As he was considering a hasty retreat, a volley of arcane-bolts and powerful mind-blasts joined Bianca's steel. The ranged help from his allies made the difference and the fight ended when no more mercenaries appeared. A quick check of the other three poison barrels confirmed they were still sealed.

"Let me get Maecon to round up a crew to get this mess cleaned up," Aveline wiped _Fadeshear _and sheathed it. "I'll be right back."

"Mystery solved, Hawke." Varric stepped up and pointed to a balcony overlooking the square. "It was Blondie. I'll have to take back every nasty thing I've said about him."

* * *

><p>Anders had joined them on a street overlooking the square and pitched in with the healing that the fight made necessary. "You guys are pretty lame without some sparkles, as Varric calls it." He stood from tending the dog to face some-one he didn't know. She was an elf, but that was about all he did know about her.<p>

She was dressed in the light armor of a warrior. There was a wild look about her that was not of the elven, was it the gas? Not saying a word, she drew her greatsword and took a few steps toward them.

Hawke held up empty hands. "Easy. I'm just trying to find out what happened here."

She lowered her guard. "Is that? …_Serah Hawke_!" She looked around, counting her followers, then counted those with Hawke. She considered the odds. "_You _have _enemies._"

He was at a loss. "Doesn't everybody?" he asked. His friends, including the warden, drew closer to him.

The elf stepped up. "I'm glad it's _you,_ really. These poor people. _You _are a much better _target_!"

Hawke stood his ground. "_You _stole the _gaatlok_, what, to _sell_? _Justify yourself_!"

Her face twisted with suppressed rage. "Qunari take my people! My siblings forget their culture. Then go to the _Qun _for _purpose. _We are losing them _twice_!" Anger was replaced with petulance. "So, I get help from _your _people. We take the Qunari thunder, make some… _accidents_, and make them _hated_!"

She looked at the ground. Sorrow seemed to be all that was left. "But _this_… this is all wrong."

He was watching Aveline, who shook her head. "Which of my people put you up to the theft?" he asked gently.

Had she heard him? Her head came up-the wild look was back in her eyes. "It can still _ work. They _are hidden in your city. _They _will enrage the faithful, and make sure the Qunari are blamed!" She took a look around once more.

Hawke heard Aveline's voice behind him saying _no! _over and over. He could imagine her right hand on the pommel of her blade. _Steady on,_ he thought at her, not taking his eyes from the elf in front of them.

"Me?" the elf asked. "I am _finished_! I just need a few more bodies. _A few more_!" With that, she raised her sword and charged.


	9. Ch 9 Interlude Qunari Thunder

The elf's madness gave her strength, but it was at a cost to her dexterity. Anders' potent mind-blast didn't seem to affect her either. Though the fight raged on about them, the elf and Hawke didn't notice. They were locked into a desperate fight. The blade she wielded was almost as long as she was tall, yet her control was near perfect. She never had to recover from a swing like most of her larger brothers-in-arms; The blade's arc continued around with only a touch of power from her to keep it moving.

Her style's predictability was her undoing. After timing her swings, all Hawke had to do was step inside her reach and sweep her feet out from under. When he kicked her weapon away, he expected her to yield. Instead, she pulled a dagger from hiding and reversed her grip, driving it into her midsection with a hiss of pain. Looking him dead in the eyes, she drew the dagger across, then up and down, then lay down to die with a sad smile that would haunt him until it was his time.

* * *

><p>Someone bumped him, breaking his paralysis. The sight of feathered pauldrons caught his attention. "Sorry Hawke." It was Anders directing arcane bolts at an archer across the square. "You all right? You look out of it. Not hurt, are you?"<p>

"No, I'm fine. Let's finish it." He ran to Aveline, who was right in the middle of the melee, surrounded by three mercenary assassins. His back-stab put one down, just as the last two fell to the Guard-Captain's riposte and a bolt from Varric's sweetheart.

The fight was over. There was now another mess for the guard to clean up here. Aveline and Varric stood over the elf's body. "Did she do that to herself?" The guardswoman was somber.

"Yeah, I think so." The dwarf turned away and appeared to be looking for something on the ground. "At least that's what it looks like," he called over his shoulder.

She found Hawke standing at the rail surrounding the lift shaft that led to a lower level of Darktown. Looking down into the darkness, his slouch made him look defeated. "She was insane, Cale." Aveline put a hand on his shoulder. "There wasn't a thing you… _we_ could do… we did what we had to do."

"Right." He walked away from her, toward the stairway that would take them down to the waterfront. "What's done is done." He didn't look back.

She sighed. "The Arishok was right… and wrong. He'll need to be told about this." She hurried to catch up.

In spite of the mess that needed to be cleaned up, the guard at the gate looked relieved; the disaster was over. "Survivors are starting to show. It wasn't as bad as it could've been. Thanks to you, Messere Hawke," he said, moving to open the gate.

Seeing his confusion when Hawke pushed on through the gate without comment, Aveline shook her head. "It's all right Maecon. He knows we're grateful. We'll be at the Qunari compound and then we'll return to the barracks, if anyone asks. Carry on, son. You did well here."

He beamed at her praise. "Thank you, Captain. I will." He held the gate for her.

* * *

><p>They descended the long stairs that led to Kirkwall's Docks District and turned left at the bottom. The gate to the compound was barred with an armed Qunari warrior standing guard. "All are forbidden. Except <em>you<em>–for now," he told them after lifting the bar and allowing them to push the gate open for themselves.

He watched as the four approached the stairs leading up to his terrace. Aveline, Varric, and Faust accompanied Hawke. They'd lost Anders somewhere along the way. He waited for his visitors to get to the bottom step. "So, I was wrong about _our _thief," the Arishok said, dispensing with any formalities.

Hawke paused just long enough to keep from being rude. "It appears so," he intoned.

The Qunari leader sat back and inclined his head, putting his warriors at ease. "They say we were careless with our trap, that this is our fault. But even without the _saar-qamek_, there would have been deaths." He paused to survey his domain. "The elf was determined to lay the blame at our feet. While I admire conviction with a focus, I don't understand your kind's commitment to weakness."

"The elf has failed. She is no longer a threat. Why aren't you more concerned with her supporters?" Hawke's reply was almost a monotone.

"Our enemies strike from shadow because they cannot stand before us." He looked up at his gate guard's entrance. "This is not a revelation." His eyes followed the changing of the guard at the front gate. "And it does not matter. I am_ not _here to fight. I am here to satisfy a demand you cannot begin to understand."

"Ah, that ol' Qunari mystique," Varric mumbled. Aveline shushed him.

"Still, you've been here a long time." Hawke reached down and patted his restless dog.

The Arishok slowly stood. All eyes were now on him. "I am _stuck _here," he said simply.

Hawke was thoughtful. "That's not the understanding of city leaders and their… supporters."

Aveline saw it coming. She kneeled and reached around the dog's neck to calm him.

"Let them _rot._" The Arishok advanced to the top step. "_Filth _stole from us. Not now. Not the _saar-qamek. _ Years ago. A simple act of _greed _ has _bound _me. We are _all _denied _Par Vollen _until I have recovered what was lost under _my _command!"

His troops watched impassively. Evidently, they'd heard this before. "_That _is why this elf and her shadows are unimportant. That is why I do not simply walk from this _pustule _of a city!" Turning away, he walked slowly to his seat. "Fixing _your_ mess is _not _the demand of the _Qun_." Without warning, he turned and rushed back to the top step. "And you should be grateful," he roared.

Aveline had her hands full at that moment. Faust wouldn't keep still. With the dwarf's help, they managed to restrain him.

The Qunari leader returned to his seat. "Thank you, human, for your service," he said in a calm voice that belied his remaining fury. "Leave."

* * *

><p>Viscount Marlowe Dumar cleared his office and ushered Hawke and the Guard-Captain in as soon as they arrived, much to the grumbling of not a few of Kirkwall's nobles. The viscount left it up to his seneschal, Bran, to smooth any ruffled feathers. The Qunari Menace, as he called it, was his top priority. He wanted Bran to make sure the nobles understood this.<p>

It took but a few minutes to fill him in on what had happened in Lowtown and how the Qunari had reacted to it. "Years of nice, quiet anxiety… _gone_. Along with a whole street," the viscount lamented when they'd finished.

Aveline held Hawke's gaze with her eyes. He knew how she felt about the viscount's history of appeasement. "The Qunari appear to be blameless in this," Hawke noted. _If you discount they were the ones who had the formula for the gas and they let it be stolen. _That was a thought he kept to himself.

"Right. Aside from the Qunari just being here, a _mad _elf, pushed by zealots, likely hidden in the very groups I have to appease, has managed to kill Maker knows how many of our citizens in one afternoon." He paced behind his desk. "The Maker has a grand sense of humor."

"He has a way of testing our faith, Excellency," Aveline's tone admonished him.

He looked up from his desk. "Quite. And the Arishok–I suspected he had no plans to leave. If only we knew what he was looking for. I didn't know it was just as annoying for him. And who is playing us against each other? There seems to be more questions than answers."

"Maybe time will tell," his Guard-Captain offered.

The viscount's hands were massaging his temples. "And it's about to get worse, much worse I'm afraid. A shame, there were overtures of civility. Your influence, no doubt."

"I don't like the sound of that, Excellency."

"You and me both, Messere Hawke." He paused to collect his thoughts. "A Qunari delegate and his entourage paid me a visit. It was civil, tentative. _Hopeful._" He looked up, frowning. "Not _now_, Bran… give us a moment please."

His seneschal excused himself and left.

He sighed. "Where was I? Yes… the delegation left my chambers with their usual precision, but were not reported by the outer guard." He threw up his hands in frustration. "They are missing almost literally from my doorstep. And _what_, do you imagine, will be their Arishok's reaction?"

Aveline spoke up, "Excellency, for the sake of our Kirkwall, we need to get out in front of this and fast."

He offered them a wan smile. "Guard-Captain, I could use your enthusiasm. I feel I have been trying to turn a stampede for some time, now. Someone is pushing very hard." He thought for a moment. "Speak with Seneschal Bran. Then you will see why I cannot trust anyone else with this. Thank you for your efforts so far. I'll be here when you return," he said, dismissing them.

* * *

><p>Bran was standing at the balcony rail, watching the nobles entering and leaving the keep's entry hall. He looked up at Hawke's approach. "Messere Hawke, Guard-Captain Vallen, and…" He looked down at the dwarf standing with them.<p>

"Varric Tethras, _esquire_, at your service," the dwarf supplied.

"…and Messere _Tethras_. How may I help you?" His eyes stayed on Varric.

"You have information about the missing Qunari?" Hawke raised his voice.

"I am to _help _you, _yes._ Viscount Dumar would appreciate discretion in this matter," he said stiffly. "_I _would prefer _you,_" he glared at Hawke, then at Varric, "were _not _ involved at all, but that is neither here nor there."

Hawke moved closer. "The Arishok is growing violent. He might be looking for an excuse to end the viscount's fragile peace."

Bran stood his ground. "I suspect that if this_ Arishok _wanted to take over, he simply _would._" Getting no reply from Hawke, he continued; "For all we fear that heretical _Qun _of his, its demands have done more to keep him in check than any of _our _efforts."

"And?" Hawke could see Bran wasn't finished.

He shrugged. "Besides, would the Qunari stoop to trickery? There is no precedent, but there _is _unfortunate evidence of influence from _our _side." His eyes were on Aveline.

"I'm sure you have suspicions about what happened." Hawke wasn't sure where this was going.

"My _concerns_ are well founded." His frown was for the Guard-Captain. "This could not have escaped the notice of the City Guard, unless_ they_ were involved."

_So the gauntlet's thrown._ Hawke's mind raced. "Aveline, what do you think?" He stepped aside.

She stepped up. Her indignation was hard for her to hide. _"My _guard. Have any failed to report?" She pressed closer.

He refused to budge. "_Your _guard. There were several. _You _should start with one of them." He looked at each one of them in turn. "Although, where would _you _find a _swordsman_ so eager to sell his _honor_ and _duty_, I'm sure _I _don't know."

Both Varric and Aveline came up with the answer; "The Hanged Man!"

Hawke agreed. "It's got to be. Where else?"

Bran's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Right. Then you know what to look for. I can't imagine this has occurred without someone's notice. There's always a weak link." When they'd turned to leave, he bid them; "Please keep this quiet. The viscount is under enough scrutiny as it is."

"Mum's the word, then. We'll be back." Varric was the last to leave.

* * *

><p>Varric had a hand on the door latch. This time of evening, the Hanged Man would be a busy place. "We're looking for a dirty guard, right? That probably means a drunk with more coin in his pocket than brains in his head. Follow me."<p>

It didn't take long. He was at the bar, as loud as a drunk could be. "A round for the house," he called out. "The coin is all mine, boys. And the Maker's waiting for me, no matter what I do." Cheers and cat-calls greeted his sally.

Hawke waited for the rush to subside and pushed in beside their mark. Aveline identified him as one of her guards. Orwald was his name. "Thanks." Hawke lifted his glass to him and drank. "A lot of coin for this place, eh?"

"Damned right, pal. Tonight I'm paid and blessed. And all I had to do was turn my head and look the other way." The bar-keep refilled his glass, which he raised. "To all my friends," he bellowed.

Aveline and Varric stepped up behind the drunk, pushing him and causing him to spill his drink. "Hey, step back. I know important people. We're going to show this city what to do with heathen ox-men." The crowd, sensing a fight, moved away from the bar. It got deathly quiet. The drunk could do nothing but look around in confusion.

"Guard-Captain, would you like to have a word with your man?" Hawke invited.

Orwald looked around until he spotted Aveline. "Guard-Captain?"

She towered over him. "_Who_?"

He tried to focus on her. _"What?"_

She grabbed a fist full of his shirt and pulled him close. They were almost nose-to-nose. "_Who_!" she repeated. Her green eyes bored into his.

"_Who what? _I don't-" he started to blubber.

She shook him until his teeth chattered. "Who _bought _you! Who bought the honor of a proud guard of Kirkwall and made him a drunken Mabari _bitch_!" She shook him again, tearing his shirt.

"I don't… I don't know. He was a templar! I swear! He… he had the seal of the Grand Cleric and everything!" Orwald looked up, then dropped his eyes from hers. "It's true."

She let him go. "The penalty for abandoning your post is ten days on the wall. I expect you to report in the morning. Don't make me come looking for you. Got it?"

"Right, Captain." He managed to stumble to the door without falling.

"Well Hawke. There's your answer–a templar." She looked at her hands. "Let me get to Varric's room. I want to wash these."

"Right this way, Guard-Captain." The dwarf led the way.

* * *

><p>Aveline closed the Chantry's massive entry door and turned on Hawke. "So, you're taking the Captain of the Guard to accuse the Grand High Cleric of Kirkwall of funding zealots?"<p>

The dwarf grinned. "You only know the half of it-"

"_Varric_!" Hawke interrupted him.

"Hawke, what in the Maker's name is going on? What am I walking into?" She stood with arms folded, waiting for an answer.

He held out his empty hands. "It's just a careful chat about the missing Qunari," he said, glaring at Bartrand's brother.

She wasn't convinced. "Some days Hawke…"

The only one present in the Chantry's central hall was a sister wearing the robes of the newly ordinated. She looked up and smiled at Hawke. "Maker's Blessing, Serah, how may I help you?"

He wondered if Elthina would see him. Her last letter stating that she shouldn't was still in his shirt pocket. "The Grand Cleric. Please tell her… tell her it concerns the Qunari."

She lit the last candle and pinched out the taper she carried. "Who shall I say-?"

"Serah Hawke. That is all Sister Agnes. I will take it from here."

"Yes Mother. Maker's Blessings, Serah." She left in a hurry.

"Sister Petrice… or is it Grand Cleric yet?" Hawke wondered, not passing up the chance to needle her.

"_Mother_ Petrice. Time has changed us both." She looked around. No-one was within hearing. "Grand Cleric Elthina cannot grant an audience to just anyone. What do _you _want?"

At first, Hawke wondered about coming in the front door like this. He could always try to see Elthina by using the back door, but Petrice was an unknown. What was her role? He'd try this first. "A templar may have misjudged an order and abused the Grand Cleric's authority," he stated, watching her reaction closely.

She was as aloof as ever. "I assure you, the templars would never embarrass the Chantry, at the risk of the Knight-Commander's wrath."

"We've been asking around. It seems men were hired for the righteous task of kidnapping a Qunari delegate. The word templar came up in the conversation."

Petrice raised her chin and met his gaze. She waited.

Taking a chance to break the impasse, he said, "A pause that says you _know_, but does Her Grace?"

She looked away. "The Grand Cleric _trusts _her stewards to enact the wishes of the Maker." Her expression remained impassive.

He wagged a finger at her. "So, you've been at it again? Sounds like you've been very bad this time. This will shock Her Grace, no doubt." His smile mocked her. He exchanged looks with Varric.

She sighed. "So stubborn… all right, Serah Hawke, if you won't abandon this, let me offer you something. The templar you seek is a radical who has grown… unreliable. Confronting him may do us all a favor."

"And he is _what _to you?"

"He is my former bodyguard, Ser Varnell. Assume what you wish, but I offer him to you as… reconciliation." She, once again, looked around. "Varnell's refuge is in Darktown. It's in a gated gallery to the north-east. Meet me at this location. I invite you, Serah Hawke. Come see what unrest the Qunari have inspired. I fear Varnell may have started something we will regret. Perhaps he is not beyond our control yet. Maybe you can do something." She mounted the stairs to her quarters without looking back.

A/N Thanks to _Wyl _for taking time to help with this chapter. _C._


	10. Ch 10 Petrice II Offered

"Strange, I've been through here countless times and I don't remember this being here." Anders gave the iron lattice blocking his path an impatient shake. It was no larger than most doors you'd run into here, and the turn in the hallway prevented a view of where it would end up. "It leads down and roughly to the north-east. This must be it."

Varric pointed to the tracks in the dirt on the floor. "It's been used lately. Is it unlocked?" He answered his own question by pulling on the mesh. With a thin squeal, it opened just far enough for them to squeeze past. After a look at each one of his fellows, he lit a lamp and, carrying it high, led the way.

The stairway ended in a large gallery strewn with mining tools and piles of junk. An air shaft cut into the ceiling allowed enough light in for them to see their way through. "Petrice called this Varnell's Refuge," the dwarf remarked, taking a long look around. "Refuge from what? Is what I wanna know."

"Is that voices I hear?" Hawke wondered, his voice echoing from the stone walls.

Varric held up a hand. "There is a crowd up ahead. But hold on a second. Let me make sure nobody's set up a surprise for us." He crossed the room, watching for anything hidden in the piles of refuse. Finding nothing, he waved them on to the stairs leading up.

The sound of voices was stronger. They could all hear them now. A man's voice asked a question, to which many answered. "Did I just hear the word Qunari?" It was Aveline, her hand had instinctively found _Fadeshear's _hilt.

"Yeah, you did," Hawke replied, watching her back. "Petrice is here, somewhere."

"_Wonderful_!" Anders snorted from the back of the line; Varric was leading, with Aveline following, then Hawke next, just ahead of the mage. In a single file, they crossed a bridge over two mining galleries to their left. Below them, in one, was a train of three dust covered carts that hadn't moved in ages. Their wheels looked like lumps of rust. The smell of mold and sewage reminded them they were in the lowest levels of Darktown. "Nice place to hold a rally," he said, sparing a glance at the figure of a kneeling man painted on the wall.

"Hold here." Varric stopped them short of a corner. "I'll be right back."

The dwarf eased up to the corner and slipped around into a recess cut into the gallery beyond. The oil lamps hung on the walls gave just enough dim light for him to see four unarmed Qunari warriors standing against the far wall, hemmed in by a motley collection of armed locals. Some of them wore light armor, while some just wore street clothes, but they were all armed. There were blades as well as bows here. What was absent, though, was any sign of a magic user. _Blondie's gonna love crashing this party, _Varric thought as he turned and made his way back.

* * *

><p>"Like any <em>beast<em>, remove the fangs and it is _lost._" The templar they knew as Ser Varnell stood between the Qunari delegate and the mob. Though he seemed to be the only Chantry representative here, the crowd was under his control. All eyes were on the templar. His hostile gestures caused a restless murmur to run through them. Seeing the new arrivals, he nodded and continued; "They are _weak _before the _faithful _of the Maker. The only certainty in their _precious Qun _is _death _before the _righteous_!" The punch he delivered to the delegate's midsection drew a ragged cheer.

The Qunari straightened and shot a stern look to his fellows, who remained impassive. Their indifference seemed to satisfy him. His gaze returned to the templar.

"Well, _heathen_, where does your faith lead you? You will not have Kirkwall!" Varnell's taunts drew more shouts from the aggravated mob. They were barely under his control now.

The Qunari delegate and his escorts didn't react to the crowd that pressed in at the templar's words. Their eyes were on the new arrivals. Hawke, Varric, Aveline, and Anders stepped up and formed a line facing them.

At a hush from the crowd, the templar looked up. "Ser Varnell!" A woman's call got their attention.

Looking past Hawke, Varnell held up his arms. "Take a knee, faithful. The Chantry blesses us." He bowed at the waist. "Revered Mother… ."

"I was wondering when _she _would show." Varric stepped back to get a better look.

Petrice stood before them, her hands clasped. "You claim blessing when you have used the authority of the Grand Cleric so openly?" She looked at the crowd as if marking each one. In silence, they all watched her cross the room to stand behind Hawke and Aveline. "You have brought _wrath _down upon yourselves." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You _do _remember Serah Hawke?"

The templar crossed his arms and smiled benignly. The uneasy murmur from his followers was answer enough. He waited.

Squeezing his shoulder, she looked sideways at Hawke. "The _Qunari _ have _friends_, Ser Templar." Her eyes were on Varnell now. "How will you answer their… _allegations_, hmm?"

His smile widened. "Most Revered Mother… the friend of _our _enemy… is _our _enemy!" He patiently waited for the shouts and curses to quiet down. "_Heathens _and _abominations _must _die_!" The agitated crowd pressed closer to their prisoners with a collective growl.

He could see where this was going. Hawke stepped up and raised his voice. "You want a fight, Varnell? Face someone whose weapons are not bound!"

Anders' eyes glowed. "Templars are _cowards._" His voice was somehow different, much lower, much slower. "They can only pick on those whose lives they already hold in their hands." His grip on the staff he held tightened. His knuckles were white.

Varric was undecided. "Hawke, you sure about this?" He took a quick look around.

Hawke wasn't watching. Petrice held his attention. Her eyes widened in surprise when the templar drew a hidden dagger and, with deliberate slowness, cut the delegate's throat. Turning before the Qunari fell, he held the blade over his head. Blood dripped from the keen edge, causing an awed sigh from the faithful. Varnell looked up at the ceiling as though he was listening. His gaze returned to the crowd. "_Righteous_!"

The hand on Hawke's shoulder was unsteady, then it was gone.

Looking triumphantly at Petrice's hasty exit, Varnell pointed at the delegate's escort. "_Finish them_!" Sweeping the bloody blade in Hawke's direction, he incited them; "The friends of the _heathen_! Destroy them!" When he threw the dagger at Hawke, he didn't count on Aveline being there. Seeing it glance harmlessly off of another Chantry herald gave him pause, but he now had only one way out. Drawing his own sword and shield, he muttered a warrior's prayer and waded in.

* * *

><p>From long practice, they moved as one; Hawke and Aveline advanced in line, while Varric and Anders retreated to the far left. A powerful mind-blast spell stunned them all, giving the advantage to the ones who recovered first.<p>

In spite of the protection of their position, the Qunari escort fell to the front rank of fanatics. Thinking of his mage, Hawke directed his attack on the templar, who was still reeling from the warden's mind assault when Aveline's pommel strike put him on the floor. Hawke was ready to take advantage of the situation, when Aveline followed through. The templar was no more.

Mindful of the fireballs and ice spells being cast, the two moved left to engage the fanatics that had killed the Qunari. One after another of the unarmored mob fell to either the Guard-Captain's blade or Hawke's deadly back-stab.

The fight was now in its last stages. It had turned into a deadly game of cat-and-mouse, with snipers stepping up, taking a shot, and then disappearing. On instinct, Hawke and Aveline moved from cover to draw fire, while Anders and Varric patiently waited for their targets.

It was over before they knew it. The four met in the middle of the room where the floor was littered with the dead; Qunari, a templar, and numerous commoners were scattered about in the unlovely repose of mortality. "Bloody, Maker-damned… _templars_!" His voice was now Anders. Vengeance, apparently sated, wasn't there. Did the warden recognize any of these corpses? Had he treated them in his clinic? He stood still for a moment, clutching his stave, shaking his head, and muttering to himself.

"Ah, the City Guard," Varric piped up, winking at Aveline. "Just in time."

"Not this time, _Varric_!" She drew her sword and ran to the stairway leading to upper Darktown. "Hawke, Anders…" They looked up at her call. " …_today_!"

The last group of fanatics was caught flat-footed.

* * *

><p>The courier saluted his captain and left. "Excellency, a detail is on the way to start cleaning up. They will await your orders," she said. Aveline had escorted the viscount to lower Darktown after the last of the fanatics had been dealt with. At Hawke's suggestion, she had filled her leader in on what had happened.<p>

Viscount Dumar nodded. "Thank you Captain. Have them start as soon as they arrive." He turned to join Hawke who was standing over the body of Varnell. In spite of being briefed, he was still shocked at what he was brought to see. "Madness, sheer madness!" He spent some time examining the fallen delegate.

"Yes, Excellency, it is nothing but insanity." Hawke was carefully watching Anders.

Dumar seemed to be looking for something. "Chantry involvement… even if they are _fringe _elements…" He sighed. "It could not be worse."

With a pointed look at Hawke, Anders spoke up; "The Chantry has seen the abuses the templars get away with. Why would they not think to do the same?" He was making some effort to control his words.

Dumar's eyes were on Hawke, then cut back to the warden. "I _will_ agree with you… but only so far. I cannot allow rumors and tavern-talk to affect my decisions. _Here_, I see the facts. What I don't know is _why_." He left them to stand over the body of the delegate.

Anders was about to say something when Hawke cut him off; "Not now, my friend," reaching for a shoulder.

The warden shrugged his hand off. "Not now?" He took a step back. "_When_?"

He held his hands up. "Maker knows _when_, not me. Let's give it some time. What do you say?"

The warden's eyes flashed. "For now," he muttered, turning his back.

"You killed them… all of them?" the viscount had returned. A thought occurred to him. "Was this templar the only one?"

"No Excellency. A Revered Mother was here, but left before the fighting started," Hawke replied.

"And what part did _she_ play in this?"

Hawke wasn't sure how much Aveline had told him. "The Mother asked us to come here. It seems Varnell was out of control, but there's more to it than that. She is… very slippery. We've dealt with her before."

The viscount was thoughtful. "I will make my inquiries. _Gently._ And you should be careful in your associations as well, for now, we have other problems."

The Guard had arrived and the task of cleaning up was underway. "This group, at least, is crippled. I'm not sure we got all of them. It will take awhile for them to get together again." Hawke was upbeat, glad it was over.

"Then that, at least, is _something._ Not that it matters now." Dumar spent some time looking over the slain Qunari. "We have the delegate but… I can't return the bodies to the Qunari in this state." He thought for a moment. "Serah Hawke, you _know _the Arishok. What should I do? Would incinerating them offend Qunari honor?"

"Excellency, keep in mind that the Qunari do not value remains like we do. The condition of the bodies would back up your story. Hiding this would only make it worse."

He was again rubbing his temples. "It would, wouldn't it? I am losing my sense of how to balance this nightmare." He straightened his shoulders. "I appreciate your help in this matter. As bad as this is, it could have been much worse without you. Kirkwall owes you. _I _owe you.

Hawke took the hand he offered.

* * *

><p>Hawke laid down the quill and pushed the ink bottle out of the way. He reached for the tumbler of brandy and stopped before he could pick it up. <em>Right, finish the reply to Bethany's letter with a damned hangover<em>…

"Hey Hawke," Varric interrupted his thought. He hadn't even heard the dwarf come in. "Don't mind sharing, do you?" he wondered aloud.

Shaking his head, he pushed the brandy bottle toward his friend.

The dwarf forced a smile. "I didn't mean that." He was searching for the words. "It's been over two weeks and I hadn't heard from you." He walked to the sideboard for a clean cup. "I'll repeat myself and say how sorry I am about your mother. Was there something we could've done? I've wracked my brain and nothing comes up." He poured from the bottle and took a stiff belt, sighing as the warmth spread.

"Well, we got the bastard. It was just too damned late." Hawke was studying a letter written by his sister.

Varric topped off his friend's glass, then refilled his cup. "Sorrow shared is sorrow halved, they always say. But if you'd rather not, I'll understand." He watched his friend reading.

Hawke looked up. He was tired, beat. "Bethany wrote a letter. We managed to get word to her from one of Anders' warden contacts." He sighed. "I don't know what to tell her." He passed the letter over without further comment.

It was written in an obviously feminine hand. Whether it was marred by haste or anger, the dwarf couldn't tell;

_Cale._

_What in the Maker's name is going on? I have just been told by a stranger that my mother is dead. What happened? What did you do? What didn't you do? How could you _

_Dear Cale,  
><em>_Please forgive me for the previous, but I'm sure you understand my need to express myself. I was going to tear up the first lines, but it's better for me to just say it._

_I have had a chance to rest and come to grips with what has happened. It is much harder for me, I think. You see, mother blamed herself for Carver's death, yet, her question for me told another tale; Where was I when they were attacked? She never really believed that I died too. The agony that our brother endured, I felt. But Cale, there is sweetness and peace as well. The end of life is not to be feared. I know that now. I suppose that is the Grey Warden in me speaking._

_At first, I was furious with you for what happened in the Deep Roads. Like the child I still was, my view of the world was limited. What you and Anders did for me was nothing short of heroic. Please accept my heartfelt gratitude and extend it to Anders as well. Be kind to him. He is a tormented soul who needs our help and understanding. _

_Mother was never one to believe that Carver died defending us. That he gave his life so we could live on, but he did. He told me so at the moment of his passing. My only regret is that I was powerless to stop it. The child Bethany would shoulder the blame for her brother's passing and wear it like an ill-fitting tunic. Warden Bethany accepts it for what it was; a gift of our brother's love. Now, Mother will see it as well. Don't you think?_

_Now, Dear Brother, I must close. We all must move on. Please, all you need tell me in reply is that Mother has been taken care of and that you can stand before the Maker for what has happened. In return, I want to make you proud of me._

_Remember me to all. I miss them so. Next time I'm near Kirkwall, I will drop by, if just to show off my new look. Just kidding. Take good care, my brother.  
><em>_Love Bethany._

"Little sister grows up." Varric passed the letter back. "How much do you tell her, if I may ask."

"Only that it was taken care of." Hawke folded the letter carefully. "The Memorial Garden at the Chantry has a marker with Mother and Carver's names. I'll take her there the next time she's here. "

The dwarf raised his cup. "Maker watch over them."

"Rest in peace." Hawke raised his.

* * *

><p>The reply to his sister's letter was sealed and ready for the circuitous trip to her. Anders had connections with the wardens at Vigil's Keep in Ferelden, and it would eventually find its way. It should be in her hands within a month or so.<p>

Sitting back with his glass of Antivan brandy, he had time to reflect. Things were at low ebb now, in spite of the Qunari menace and the enmity between the circle and the templars. With them, he knew no news was good news. It had been too quiet for too long, though. He knew it would just be a matter of time and the odds were even which would break first.

He'd just picked up his pen and gathered a sheet of paper to write a note when his houseman cleared his throat and stopped at the top of the stairs. "Beg your pardon Messere. A message to you from the Chantry was placed in my hand just this moment. I knew you'd want to see it right away." He laid it on the table at Hawke's elbow. He managed a smile. "If I may say, I'm glad to see that Master Varric has cheered you up some." With that, he winked and returned to his work in the kitchen.

He was cheered some, but it was only partly from his friend's visit. A letter from the Chantry was long overdue. He hadn't heard from Elthina in a while and was about to write a short note in the vague style they used now as a matter of course.

With a pang of disappointment, he recognized the Viscount of Kirkwall's signature when he opened the letter.

_Serah Cale Hawke,  
><em>_Please come speak to me–and only to me–  
><em>_in my keep. It is a matter of the utmost  
><em>_privacy and urgency, and I can trust it to no-  
><em>_one else.  
><em>_Viscount Dumar._

_ So much for no news, _Hawke thought as he pocketed the note and grabbed his weapons.

A/N Once again, thanks ~_Vice. _


	11. Ch 11 Interlude II Friends and Fate

Hawke made his way through Hightown in a fog of pre-occupation, nodding and mumbling greetings without really noticing what went on around him. The time it would take to get to the Hanged Man in Lowtown was time to reflect. Even though Hightown was brighter, cleaner, somehow–Aveline's City Guard influence, no doubt–his mood was more Lowtown, maybe even bordering on Darktown.

An urgent message from Kirkwall's Viscount had set him on the path to collect a few friends; Varric was probably home at the Hanged Man; Merrill, if she wasn't raiding the gardens in and around Kirkwall or trying to find her way around, would be home in the Alienage; and Aveline would be just across the way at her office in the Viscount's Keep.

In spite of its urgency, the viscount's summons didn't trouble him. His mind was on Elthina. He hadn't heard from her in quite awhile and his latest encounter with the Chantry did nothing to ease his concern. Though it happened a little more than three weeks ago, it seemed like only yesterday…

* * *

><p>It was just luck that he'd found the note. It was buried in a pile of grocery lists and unanswered letters begging for his attention. He was lucky that his overworked houseman hadn't gotten around to throwing the whole mess into the furnace.<p>

The Chantry's sunburst seal embossed in the corner made him pull the folded sheet from its hiding place. On its once-folded wax-sealed sheet of vellum was simply his name; _Messere Cale Hawke. _

Thinking _I've really missed her _he broke the seal and opened the note. It appeared to be an invitation;

_Messere,  
><em>_At your earliest convenience,  
><em>_could you meet with me privately  
><em>_in E's study? In her absence,  
><em>_I have her leave to meet with you  
><em>_and discuss your elven friend's  
><em>_most interesting find.  
><em>_Cordially, S. U._

_ In her absence? _That didn't sit well. _Where was she? Only one way to find out. _"Bodahn? Where's my dagger set?"

* * *

><p>"Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice." Sister Ursina had met him within moments of him lighting the lamps in the tunnel. He had to look at her twice. His first impression was she was his sister. She looked so much like Bethany. The only difference between them was a fine metal frame with coin-sized glass lenses that sat on her nose. They gave her a studious, almost owlish look that he liked. He'd heard of spectacles before, this was the first time he'd ever seen them.<p>

She smiled shyly at his staring. "Her Grace has nothing but praise for you serah. Your notes on the treatment of necrosis have pushed back the shadows… it is an honor to herald such an important find. Even with its dark origins, it's too beneficial to hide."

"Politics, the bane of scholars everywhere," Hawke quoted his sister. "Not to be too rude. May I ask after Her Grace? Anything to worry about?"

Ursina looked up from her notes on the table. "Aside from the Qunari threat? Nothing much. It seems the shouting between our First Enchanter and First Templar have reached ears in Orlais." Her eyes swam behind the thick glass with her mirth. "Kirkwall's Grand High Cleric has been summoned to appear before the Divine Justinia the Fifth," she intoned stiffly. "From the Maker to Justinia to us…" She looked up at him in mock dismay. "_Ahem_, I didn't say that, did I?"

"Sister, I am _shocked_," he said with a wink. With that, she'd driven away his reservations about coming here. If Elthina trusted her, he would too.

The lamp-light reflected off her spectacles as she bent to the notes on the table. "To business, then." She paused to riffle through the pages. "This scroll describes an ancient dalish ritual that will indeed ward off what we would now call demons or _daemons_." She spelled the word out. "A true generic name would be spirit. A denizen of the Fade. The evil spirits that feed on our base emotions are called demons."

Hawke sat back and watched her with an aching heart. She was so much like Bethany. Bethany who was so curious about everything and anything around her. Once she was into something, the world ceased to exist until her curiosity was satisfied. From nature, to history, and finally, as an adult, the study of magic consumed her interest. "Uhh, sorry sister. I was woolgathering."

Her smile was brilliant. "I was saying. We have all the steps for the ritual. The order is critical as well as the timing. There are three reagents that I… we aren't sure of." She held up a sheet with a list. "They are couched in what could be a dalish slang or a deliberate attempt at secrecy. I'm not sure which."

"And you're wondering if my dalish friend could help." Hawke finished for her.

She nodded. "There's so much we just don't know. What's in the books only goes so far and very few dalish mages feel the urge to talk with us." She gathered the notes with a flourish, turning an errant page around. "Can you bring her to meet with me, say tomorrow evening? I think we both have a lot to learn, she and I, don't you?"

Hawke was thoughtful. "She _is _interested. I'll stop by her home and ask. We'll see."

Again, that radiant smile. "That's all I can ask then, serah. If I don't see you tomorrow, I'll take it as a demurral without prejudice. Thank you so much for coming." She raised her voice. "Sister Agnes, could you see Messere Hawke to _the_ door?"

* * *

><p>Bodahn met him at the door when he got home. "Good to see you messere." He seemed out of breath after silencing Sandal's roughhousing with the dog. "The warden, Anders is his name?, is waiting upstairs in the study. Evidently, just leaving word wouldn't do. I hope it's nothing serious." His stern look made both his son and the dog stop fidgeting. "Off you go then, messere. You two… to the kitchen. <em>Chop, chop!<em>"

The former warden was writing furiously on a loose sheet of paper and didn't seem to notice Hawke at the head of the stairs. It looked as if he feared his thoughts would outrun his pen. "I was wondering where you were, Cale. Don't you ever stay home?" He signed the sheet and dropped the quill as if it was heavy.

"Quite the demand for a barely competent sword-arm," he replied. After hanging his doublet and stowing his weapons, Hawke pulled out a chair at the table. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure, my friend? Let me guess. Those reagents we had such a hard time finding?"

Anders shook his head sadly. "It's a work in progress. The ritual to separate me and Justice will have to wait. Getting the compound mixed up just right eludes me. It hasn't exploded… or anything, but the consistency is all wrong." He sighed. "It'll just take time, I suppose. On a different tack, there _is _something you could help me with. If you would." He paused to pull out a sheet with a diagram of a building.

"I've got something going with Merrill in the next day or so, but we'll squeeze you in. What's going on?" His eyes were on the diagram.

"I'm doing a history on the latest blight that fits in with… _our _dalish lady friend. That mirror, the _eluvian_ she calls it, was the very reason the Hero of Ferelden joined us in the Grey Wardens. Rumor has it that the blight was put down so quickly by the power of that glass."

"That thing is a mystery, a very dangerous mystery," Hawke mused aloud. "We're not sure that any power can control it."

"That's the point, Cale." His gaze was steady. "What we need is knowledge. Can we use the _eluvian _to benefit mankind, or must we destroy it? That's what I want to do. Get an answer to my question–get my hands on that knowledge. Before he was condemned, Karl found an obscure reference to a glass and the Imperium. He told me there was a vault in the Chantry cellar with a whole series of articles about their use."

"Understood. Now, where do I fit in?"

"I need to get into that vault." He smoothed out the diagram and pointed. "It's located in the north-western corner of the cellar, here–under the cleric's quarters. Before he… died, Karl gave me a pattern for the keys. If you could distract the Grand Cleric long enough, I could copy the text that might unlock the mirror's power. Think of how we could change the world with that."

Hawke smiled and shook his head. "I'll be damned. What a coincidence." His smile widened at the warden's frown. "It just happens that we have an appointment with a Chantry scholar to talk about a scroll Merrill found."

The warden was pensive. "Hawke, is that wise? That place is crawling with templars. Her… magic is so strong, they'll be all over you both."

Again, he shook his head, his smile even wider. "I know where the back door is. And I have a key." He winked at their conspiracy. "Meet me here tomorrow at sunset."

* * *

><p>Like he always did when visiting Kirkwall's Alienage, Hawke stopped to admire it. Standing more than a hundred hands high, it was a symbol of elven pride and carefully maintained. He wasn't sure how old their <em>Vhenadahl<em>, or Tree of the People was. Its age was measured in generations, surely. It would take at least twenty elves holding hands to encircle it's mighty trunk. The scarcity of lumber made a tree this large very rare, even branches trimmed from it were not to be wasted.

Before he could raise a hand to knock a familiar voice hailed him. "_Andaran atish'an _Hawke. Let me… set this down." Merrill set an armload of packages and a shoulder bag on a stall table and danced around him to fumble with the lock on her apartment door.

"Now, where is she? Oh, there you are are. Vira, let me introduce Cale Hawke." Merrill shouldered her bag and gathered what packages Hawke hadn't picked up. "Hawke, this is our new apprentice. She assists Tomwise at the shop and helps collect herbs and reagents."

The elf murmured a tentative greeting, blinking her luminous gray-green eyes several times. She pushed two parcels back into place in his arms and turned to face a new customer.

"_Andaran atish'an Vira_," Hawke managed a nod with his load of packages. _How does she manage to carry all this? _he wondered, following his dalish friend inside.

"Let me see…" Merrill pulled a package from his grasp, then another. "Can you set those on the table there? These go to the larder." She left the room. "Be right back, Hawke," she called out.

After dropping his load on the table, he sat in a bentwood rocker that was more comfortable than it looked. The fire in the fireplace was out. It had been swept and a new fire laid for tonight. On every bit of shelf-space were plants in clay pots–plants of all types and descriptions. Some had green leaves, some had red. Others were multicolored with red or yellow variegated leaves. It looked almost like Merrill's beloved forest in here.

The hatch-cover in the ceiling was open to admit enough sunlight to make the room look green instead of the customary dingy gray. He wondered how many of these plants were here because of Tomwise's interest in poisons. If Tom was asked, he'd say his interest was strictly alchemy. Hawke knew better. Alchemy was a good trade, but poisons were where the real money was. Some of the artifacts in the room were witness to that. Dalish statues and carvings competed with the plant-pots for any available space. One statue of a wolf, with rubies for eyes, looked priceless. He wondered where Tom had gotten it. _Best not to ask, _Hawke concluded.

"Here we are Hawke," she said, setting a large cup down in front of him. "It's daytime tea-it will give you a lift. Last time you liked it, so I assumed it was fitting to serve it."

_"Ma serannas, da'len."_ He looked at what was in the cup, sniffed, drank, smiled as the warmth started to spread, and set it down. "I really like what you've done here. It looks like you really live here now."

She smiled at his use of the dalish diminutive. "Most of it's Tommy's doing, really. We try to grow the most commonly used plants here and map out where the rare ones thrive. Not all will grow here." She looked around with obvious pride. "Oh, the viscount's gardeners have allowed me in if I lend a hand with the work there." She looked up slyly. "They don't know what's growing in the far corners."

He watched her sip tea and survey her sitting room. "On to business. Do you remember that scroll you found in the market-place?" When she nodded, he continued; "I took it to some scholars at the Chantry and they agree that it is a ritual that has to do with warding off demons."

He had her full attention now. She sat at the edge of her chair. "I knew there was something to it. What did they find?"

"That's why I'm here. They'd like to meet with you." He watched her reaction and was pleased with her enthusiasm. "They need help with some of the names they're not sure of."

"My clan must be told as well–"

"Tell them _nothing_ Merrill. Hawke, up to more _shem_ nonsense?" Tomwise's presence wasn't diminished by his appearance in sleeping clothes. "Taking a mage, a blood-mage no less, into the jaws of _Fen'harel? A_re you _insane? _Merrill, You. Will. Not!"

"Excuse me, Hawke. I'll be right back." She took Tom's arm and firmly led him away. His mistrusting eyes never left Hawke until she pulled him around the corner and down the hall.

The argument, that's what it was, was hard to follow. The words were indistinct, yet the tone wasn't. Anger was replaced by resentment that finally surrendered to silence. A door opened and closed with a firm resolve. Then industrious sounds came from the kitchen, the sound of the door again… silence. The door opened and closed once again.

"Well, that's done." Merrill was toying with a wilted red-leafed plant on a shelf in the hall. "Please forgive him. He's… cranky when he gets home." With a sigh, she flopped into a chair near the fireplace. "You see, he works nights, looking for the odd reagent, harvesting rare plants from who-knows-where…"

He caught her gaze. "Are you sure you want to do this? 'could do more harm than good." Hawke took a look around at all they'd built here.

She looked up into the sunlight. That stubborn look that he associated with the cursed mirror etched her face. "Oh, he'll be all right. Once he sees I mean to do this. He'll understand." She picked up her empty cup, then set it back down with a tired sigh. "He'll be here when I get back… or not." The logs in the fireplace seemed to have taken her attention.

He stood and took her hands in his–they were cold. "Think on it. Talk to Tom. If you can, meet me at my place tomorrow at sunset. If not, I won't think the worse of you. Will you do that?"

Words failed her. She nodded.

"_Dareth shiral._" He kissed her forehead and quietly left.

* * *

><p>"Well that's all done." Bodahn gathered up the correspondence from his desk and made for the door. "Without your help, messere, the cellar would still be a disaster–Thank you so much. Let me get these posted before the courier leaves." He called from the front door. "I've left a cold plate in the kitchen. If I can't get back right away, you and your guests dig right in. I know you've got plans, so don't mind me. Please, carry on." With that he left.<p>

Hawke hefted the box of spirit bottles and trudged up the stairs to the study. Cleaning out the junk in the cellar today rewarded him with some real treasures, most of it was in long-forgotten bottles from all over Thedas. These, he would lock away until he knew what it was that he had. The situation brought to mind an old dwarven saying Varric had told him long ago; _Bottles sprout legs. All too true, _he agreed. _Especially with Varric around._

The bell at the front door caught him before he got to the top of the stairs. With a muted curse, he left the box on a step and ran for the door.

It was what he expected and it wasn't. Both Merrill and Anders were at his front door–he expected them both. What he didn't expect was their moods. Merrill, who he thought would be moody and silent, was neither. Her dress and demeanor were bright. She couldn't wait to get going and showed it. Anders, on the other hand, was quiet, loaded with a leather bag and his every-day staff. It wasn't much to look at, but with weighted ends, it was deadly in his hands just the same.

He hugged her and shook his hand after he closed his front door. "Glad you could make it. Let's get a bite to eat and we'll be on our way."

A/N Thanks again to _Forgotten Vice_ for helping edit. _C._


	12. Ch 12 Interlude II Fate and Friends

At a narrow side tunnel, the warden stopped them with an upheld hand. "I know where this leads," he told no-one in particular. Holding the glowing end of his staff up allowed him to see that the passage sloped down and turned sharply to the right. He seemed to be trying to make up his mind. "I've been here before." That, he was sure of.

Hawke joined him to look down. "I don't know. I've never been down there," he replied. "I've passed by any number of times, just never noticed. Looks like it leads to the Chantry. It may just be a drain."

"That it is." Anders shifted his bag to the other shoulder. "It's both drain and air shaft, but it's more than that." The shadows gave his face a sinister cast. "This tunnel is part of our escape route. There's a hidden chamber at the far end of this vent. It's a good place to hide from the templars. The stone seems to… mute their abilities some."

"I don't see anything bigger than a dog going down there anyway." Merrill shivered and stepped back.

Anders didn't smile. "You'd be surprised what you would do if you are desperate enough. He kneeled and took a long look down. "This is where I'll leave you." Standing, he held up a dull grey medallion engraved with a gryphon on the wing. If you see this on the floor here, I've come and gone. Please take it with you, I'd like to have it back." He paused to look up and down the tunnel. "If you don't see it, please wait for an hour or so. I should be right along in any case."

"And if you're not?" Merrill gripped his arm.

This time, he did smile. He took both her hands in his. "Not to worry. I'll be here." He finished with a wink. "I promise."

* * *

><p>The elf looked around the chamber at the end of the tunnel. One wall wasn't like the rough-cut rock that surrounded them. It was made of stone blocks that framed a sturdy, iron bound door, made of the same blocks as the wall. There was no latch or handle visible, though. "So, what now?" The muted blue-green light from the signal lamps gave Merrill's eyes an ethereal glow. "This is the heart of the Chantry? It feels, so… quiet. Like nothing… no-one is here."<p>

"This is the back door. It leads directly to the Grand Cleric's personal study. Her people are expecting us. Not many know about this entrance." He squeezed her shoulder affectionately. "Elthina… the Grand Cleric is in Orlais. Her personal guard went with her. There is only a single guard on her front door. They won't even know we're here–" The sound of the bolt being drawn interrupted him. "Sister Agnes, Good Even'. Thank you." He ushered Merrill through and pulled the door to behind them.

The elf was all eyes here. The oiled wood and woven tapestries were all new to her. Shelves of books lined the walls, while Nella's handiwork was everywhere. Sketches and printed homilies were propped up all around the room. Merrill's attempts to look everywhere at once brought a smile to the sister's face. "Sister Ursina will be with you shortly," she told them. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. Can I get you anything?"

* * *

><p>He'd finally made it. This was the sub-cellar, he was sure of it. The diagram Karl gave him was more accurate than he'd hoped for. From Hawke's tunnel to the sewer to a little used air shaft, Anders had made his way into the Chantry in search of the secrets of a Tevinter looking-glass. He'd told his friend a little white lie; He was really looking for something else.<p>

_Here it is. Right where Karl said it would be. _The heavy wooden door was secured by a massive box-lock. His key opened it without a problem–the lock was well oiled. _No wards and no guard, the usual Chantry efficiency. _Taking a quick look around, he opened the door to what had to be a quarter of Kirkwall Chantry's fortune. Inside was a small closet with deep shelves lining its walls. Larger bottles were placed on the bottom shelves, while the smaller ones were tucked away near the ceiling. _Lyrium, the root of all evil, _his thoughts were unkind. _It even smells evil._ He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

A row of bottles to the right caught his attention. Almost all of the containers here glowed a pale blue. Though the glass bottles were shielded, they still revealed what was within. Instead of blue, the bottles on his right had a disturbing red glow, much like that of the idol that had claimed that dwarf Bartrand's sanity.

He set his wooden bucket on the floor and thought for a moment. Then, he pulled a medium sized blue bottle from a shelf, set it into the bucket, and joined it with a red one of the same size. _Let's see what the red will do, _he mused, closing the door and re-locking it.

From memory, Anders made his way to the north-west corner where he knew the chimneys were built into the far wall. He found the three cast iron doors set into the wall at waist level about five hands apart. They were used to clean the chimney bores from the base, here in the cellar, to the far roof-top, though, they looked like it had been awhile since they had been opened.

After setting his bucket, bag, and staff aside, he felt a door by carefully laying a hand on its rusted face. The left one was warm. This one should be for the kitchen. Its fire was lit at certain times during the day, every day. He rejected it and felt the far right door, pulling his hand quickly away with an angry hiss. It was almost too hot to touch. It was no doubt connected to the furnace. This one, he rejected as well.

The middle door was cool to his touch–this was the one. From the builder's diagram, he knew this chimney served the kitchen annex. It was only used on special occasions. When he opened the door, he could see that the layer of fine ash inside had been there awhile. With a grim sense of purpose, he opened his bag and started pulling out bottles and jars.

* * *

><p>Hawke was looking at the titles on book spines. To pass the time while Ursina and Merrill had their heads together, he set out to find the book that started it all. Certain that it was in Elthina's study, he went there first. The Grand Cleric's personal collection was certainly an eclectic mix. Titles ran the gamut from the natural sciences, to physics, to philosophy and history. There was even a top shelf dedicated to popular fiction, though there were fewer books there. He recognized some of the titles from memories of his sister's favorites.<p>

He reached up and pulled a tome that had simple text in gold leaf at the bottom of its spine. **The Warden **it read. On the flyleaf, he found a handwritten note. It was in a style very familiar to him; _Take a look at this, E. Maybe it is a little too close to home? Love, P._

The title page was a little more forthcoming; **Circles of Magi–The Real Blight on Thedas**, it read. Apparently **The Warden **was its author. _Anders? _It came to his mind unbidden. He'd seen copies of his friend's **Manifesto **and would recognize the style. Giving up his search, he found a comfortable seat and started reading.

* * *

><p>After a quick search, Anders found what he was looking for–a tarnished, dented bowl as big around as a serving platter and almost a full hand deep. It had almost escaped his notice. If he hadn't tripped over it, it would still be hidden away under a shelf. It was fortunate that he'd found it. The pewter jars that he brought were so small it would have taken three refills to complete his task. That the metal would be consumed in the process required that he bring more than one jar. With relief, he set them aside.<p>

Pulling a scarf over his mouth and nose, he poured a powdered compound into the bowl and uncapped a bottle of lyrium. _Just enough, not too much, _he warned himself. He poured in the blue syrup, stirring it carefully with a short-handled wooden spoon he'd brought for just that purpose.

The bowl was just about full of the noxious smelling mixture. As an afterthought, Anders set his unused metal jars into the concoction, pushing their bases down firmly. _The metal will only add to the process, _he thought grimly. _Give it more kick._

Opening the iron door fully, he muscled the loaded bowl inside and set it carefully on the floor. The layer of fine ash cushioned it, keeping it from tipping over.

"Now to light it up," he murmured. Stepping back to channel the flames he summoned into the chimney bore, Anders kicked the door shut just as the mixture caught. While it burned, he got out his wooden bucket and started mixing again.

* * *

><p>The final chapter was a revelation to Hawke. The control of lyrium, in The Warden's opinion, was the control of the circle. It was the fuel that ran all magic. Though lyrium was strictly controlled, there was still a thriving black market for it. Would there be a black market at all if the templars weren't involved? The Warden didn't think so. Hawke wondered about that. His sister, it seemed, came down firmly on The Warden's side in this. He and Bethany had had many a discussion about it.<p>

About half-way through the book, Hawke had his answer. The style, the words The Warden used–The Warden was indeed Anders. Maybe some day they could discuss their views. Where did he agree with Anders? Where did he disagree? Who was the spirit called Justice–

"That must be some book." It was Merrill, accompanied by Sister Agnes. "This is the first time I've seen you sitting still for more than a few heartbeats," she teased him.

Hawke looked up and closed his book with a thump. "I'm full of surprises. You never know from where I'll come at ya." he tipped her a sly wink.

"Right. So says Mister Predictable." She eyed him with some skepticism. "We're all done here." She smiled warmly at Agnes. "And Tom and I have some work to do." She patted her shoulder bag. "_Felandaris." _The word seemed to roll off her tongue. "I'm sure I know where we can find it. Tommy will be so pleased."

He raised an eyebrow. "So, what is it you're looking for?"

She pulled out a sheet of vellum with a list printed in a flowing script. "_Orichalcum,_" she cleared her throat and rattled the sheet to get his attention, "is actually a metal, but it behaves like water. It is known to settle in low places, just waiting to be collected."

"A while ago, Varric was asking me about that. It's not rare, just valuable. He mentioned there was rumor of some in the caves on Sundermount," Hawke recalled. "He also told me that finding it wasn't the problem."

Merrill smiled knowingly. "_Varterral,_" she murmured.

"Right. _That's _the problem–The guardian. When you and Tomwise go look for it, let me know if you need help."

"_Ma serennas,_ Hawke." Her eyes found his. "It's nice to know I can always count on you."

"Welcome," was all he would say. "_Embrium_?" He'd sneaked a look at her list. "That's on the Wounded Coast. I've seen plenty of them there. It's got a red flower?"

The elf nodded. "They would be the easiest to find," she said, tucking the list back into her bag. "If you don't count the pirates, the _Tal-Vashoth, _or the wild beasts that live there."

"Nothing we can't handle," he reassured her. "You mentioned _Felandaris. _I've never heard of that."

Merrill and Agnes exchanged knowing looks. "_Demon weed… _from the _Witch Grass _family." Merrill's face clouded over. She wouldn't meet his gaze. "I know where to find that. I can nip right out and collect some." Her frown deepened. "I would be back before… anyone knew I was gone."

"Take Tom with you. Let him do all the lifting. He's got to be good for something."

Her smile returned. "I'll do that. He still has to make up for his boorish behavior," she said with a wink of her own.

With that, she'd just rolled a stone from his heart. Shelving The Warden's latest book, he took his dalish friend's arm. "Well, I'm glad that worked out. Let's find our wayward author and go home."

* * *

><p>Before adding the bottle of red lyrium to this second batch, what was called the catalyst, Anders cracked open the iron door and peeked inside. Like he expected, there wasn't much left. A scorched impression in the ashes where the bowl sat was all that he could see. The smoke from the process left a gritty-looking oily film on the inside of the chimney. From his notes, he knew that the longer that film stayed there, the more volatile it would become. Pleased with the results so far, he left the door ajar to vent the chimney and finished step number two.<p>

When he finally hoisted the wooden bucket into place where the bowl had been, his task was finished. It looked innocent enough–like someone had left a cleaning bucket with reddish-brown mud in it hidden in the chimney.

He took one last look and slowly closed the door on his handiwork. He took a grim satisfaction that no bridges had been burned… until now. With the catalyst in place, a fire lit in the kitchen above would set his plan in motion. Before that happened, he had to be sure the last step in his plan was done. Three notes, all the same, would leave no doubt in anyone's mind–mages had had enough. He would leave a note in the Chantry's collection box, one posted conspicuously in the Marketplace, and another in Hightown, just to be sure. As was his nature, The Warden carefully cleaned up after himself and made his way back to meet his friends.

* * *

><p>Hawke's time was up. Anders had waited for what felt like an age. Feeling the press of time, The Warden placed his medallion at the entrance to the drain and left to finish his task.<p>

_Citizens of Kirkwall  
><em>

_We mages have endured enough, more than enough. Is oppression all that the templars, and by default, the Chantry stand for?  
><em>

_The Circles of Magi must not be allowed to continue. They must be dismantled!  
><em>_The time is now at hand!  
><em>

_All, stand with us mages in our struggle to be free. At the sign from above, rise and stand with us._

_The souls of our slain brothers and sisters cry out for vengeance!_

A/N Thanks ~_Vice. C._


	13. Ch 13 Petrice II Lost

Viscount Dumar appeared to be looking for something on a corner shelf when the seneschal showed Hawke, Merrill, and Varric into his office. Aveline, who would make up the fourth member, had made a quick side-trip to her quarters to change. She wouldn't be representing the guard on this trip.

Dumar's back to them, he made a show of sorting through a stack of correspondence–a task he'd often used to calm himself in the past. This time, it didn't work. Hearing someone enter his office, he dropped the stack of letters he'd retrieved from the shelf and sighed.

Seneschal Bran cleared his throat. "Your Excellency, Cale Hawke… and _company._"

Giving up, he neatened the pile of papers and finally turned to face his visitors. "_Ahh_, Serah Hawke." He forced a smile. "Thank you for coming. It seems there's nowhere else for me to turn." He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "Please, forgive me." He looked up. "That will be all, Bran. See that I am not disturbed." His look was stern. "_No one_."

"Yes, Excellency." Bran shot a worried look at their visitors. "Uhhm, I will be right outside… if you need me." With that, he left them. "A true disaster. There's no pleasing anyone after this," he grumbled to himself on his way out.

"Please forgive my poor manners," the viscount stated, his eyes were on Hawke's companions. "Something has come up and…" He shot a stern look at Bran's retreating figure. "I'll need your discretion in this matter," he said after the door had closed.

"My apology as well, Your Excellency." He faced his friends. "An assumption on my part. My friends who have helped us in the past are here again." He smiled at the viscount's raised eyebrow. "Our Keeper Merrill, and Varric Tethras, as well as I, are at your service." They murmured greetings and shook hands. "Guard-Captain Aveline Vallen will be along shortly, though not as an official, unless it's necessary," Hawke added.

"I am beginning to see there's some truth to the rumors about you," Dumar mused aloud. "Your reputation for getting things done is well earned, it seems." He sighed and shuffled some papers on his desk, moving them to a side table. "On to business. It is apparently not enough that the _Qunari _define my political life. They must also _infect _what I hold dear." He paused to look at each one of them in turn, looking for any sign of rebellion.

Varric spoke up, filling the silence. "Rumors have it the Qunari are beyond restless. It's only a matter of time before they make a move. Have they done that… Excellency?" he asked from the back of the room.

"It is not the Qunari… _directly. _It is my son Saemus," he said stiffly. The viscount was looking out one of the tall narrow windows on the far side of his desk. "The life you all saved, he would… _squander _by converting to the _Qun!_" He faced them with his hands flat on his desk. "He has left for the Qunari Compound. _Please, _Serah Hawke, convince my son to come home."

Hawke hesitated. "He is of age. The decision is his to make, isn't it?"

"_There_ is the conflict." Dumar was firm. "You see, as his father, I want to let him find his own way, but in my position… there are constraints." He paused again, as if to collect his thoughts. "Your example has inspired him. I might agree, but now is not the time. These matters are… delicate."

"It's never easy," Varric commiserated.

"He's taken a great deal of inspiration from you. And I want to allow his idealism, but to follow it blindly? He lacks the experience for such a decision." He looked up with some irritation at a murmur of voices from the waiting room. "Think about it from my point of view; At best, my opponents will claim that my office is now in the hands of the Qunari." He looked down at his clenched fists. "At worst… I lose my son."

"I see." Hawke was thoughtful. "Either way, you know this can only end in trouble."

The viscount's frown deepened. "Fitting. That's where it all started. Still, my son is not foolish. I'm sure he _will_ listen to reason. And you, my friend, are in the best position to offer him the opportunity. Bring him home… _please, _do what you can."

* * *

><p>This time, when the Qunari guard lifted the bar on the gate and opened it, his insult was plain. "<em>You<em> are allowed _basra_, until the Arishok declares otherwise." He stepped aside just enough for them to pass through one at a time.

He met them at the bottom of the stairway leading to his quarters. "Serah Hawke." At his greeting, the two warriors escorting the Arishok returned to their posts at the top of the stairs, where they leaned on their spears and watched impassively.

Unlike the other times he'd been here in the compound, it seemed to Hawke that there were more Qunari lounging around. There were no weapons out in the open, but they weren't far from hand–he was sure. "I am here about the viscount's son," he said without preamble.

The Arishok seemed amused. "Are you?" he wondered. "In four years I have made no threat, and fanatics have lined up to hate us simply because we _exist_." He held up a hand, refusing to be interrupted. "_But… _despite lies and fear, _bas _still beg me to let them come to the Qun. Why?" He let the silence spin out. "Because they _hunger _for _purpose._" Every eye was on the Qunari leader now. "The son has made a choice. You will _not _deny him that."

Hawke held up empty hands. "Converting the viscount's son… his opposition will have a field day with that."

"His opposition will throw his ass out!"

He heard Aveline; "_Varric, shut up_!"

"And?" The Arishok chose to ignore the dwarf's caustic remark.

"The enemy of your enemy should be your friend?" Hawke posed, using the old proverb as a challenge.

"I don't fear the whole of _them_ together, and it is _not_ my role to reject _viddathari._" He took a moment to look around at the warriors assembled here. "The son responded to his own demand of the Qun. He is neither my slave nor my prisoner." Hearing no objection, the Arishok continued. "He is not even here. He went to his father. Ask the viscount why he would send both you and a letter here."

Hawke was thoughtful. "That seems… _strange._"

"They are meeting at the Chantry. A last, pointless appeal, I assume," the Qunari leader supplied.

"I doubt the viscount would involve the Chantry in such a personal matter." This was Varric.

"No," Hawke agreed. "But we know who _would. Mother _Petrice."

Merrill, who had been quiet until then, spoke up. "_Petrice!_ That one makes my heart sore. What has _she_ done now?"

"A suspect in _many _things," the Arishok agreed as well. He raised his voice. "If _she_ has threatened someone under _my _command again, there can be only _one _response."

"Don't make things worse by marching your men through the streets without cause," Hawke advised. _Maker, Kirkwall is a powder keg and that Chantry bitch is going to light the fuse!_

The Arishok drew himself up. "This _is_ cause_._" His troops were all on their feet. "This is the last insult I will suffer, Hawke. I _will_ be watching," he said in dismissal.

On their way out, none of Hawke's group noticed when the Arishok pointed at one of his warriors and nodded. The bowman slung his weapon and moved out.

* * *

><p>When they got to the Chantry and slipped through the massive doors, it seemed deserted. In the Great Hall, large red and white candles in ornate wall sconces and floor stands were lit for the coming evening, chasing the shadows into the far corners.<p>

A murmur of voices from a room just off the hall to their right was the only evidence that anyone was here. "It looks like a prayer service." Varric's eye was at the keyhole. "A sister is speaking to a group of… call it twenty or so locals. Their clothes say they're commoners, not from Hightown by the looks of them." His voice was barely above a whisper.

"So, where is the _good_ mother?" Aveline wanted to know.

"This may be her," Varric replied, moving closer to the keyhole again and squinting. "Hmm, grey robes… red bodice… _very _well endowed." He looked up and grinned at the Guard-Captain's snort. "'can't see her face, though. Not sure." He carefully tried the latch. "Damn, it's locked."

"There is someone upstairs." All eyes followed Merrill's pointing finger to the balcony overlooking the Great Hall. At the feet of a tall statue of Andraste, a figure in the shadows kneeled with head bowed.

Skirting the pews in the Great Hall, they took the right-hand stairs up in a loose formation; Hawke led Aveline, then Varric and Merrill followed cautiously, ready for anything.

The head and shoulders of Andraste's statue were just visible past the balcony railing. It was facing the Chantry's entrance, so its front side was all they could see. On the balcony, a young man was on his knees facing the massive entry doors. His hands were between his knees–he looked like he was in a state of meditation, in prayer.

Not wanting to disturb him, Hawke took a moment to look around the deserted upper floor. From support columns to statues to pews his eyes wandered, looking for anything out of place. Nothing stood out–nothing moved.

Before Hawke could decide what to do next, Merrill stepped up. "Saemus?" She reached around his shoulders so as not to startle him and recoiled when the body rolled over, showing his sightless eyes. She looked up from her examination. "He's… gone," she said with sorrow in her voice. "There is nothing we can do–"

"You have done _quite enough_!" Hawke's group looked down at the Revered Mother of Kirkwall Chantry's entrance onto the Great Hall's main floor below. "Serah Hawke, look at what you've done!" Standing behind her were two armed and armored templars ringed by a cluster of common folk. All were armed–some with bows, some with blades, though no weapons had been drawn, yet.

Petrice wagged a finger at Hawke. "To pounce upon the viscount's son, a repentant Qunari convert, in the very Chantry itself? A vicious crime with no excuse!" She looked past the guards standing behind her, then returned her eyes to Hawke. "Your Qunari _masters _will finally answer!" The crowd muttered its approval.

Hawke gripped the balcony railing. "Mother Petrice. I should've known. You've been a headache for a long time now," he gestured to the body on the balcony, "but to outright kill someone? That's new for you, _why_?"

The templars moved up beside her, one on each side. "He deliberately _denied _the Maker!" She raised her voice so all could hear. "How many would follow us if he went unpunished?" Calls of _heretic _and _heathen _from behind her brought a sly smile to her face. "And yet… even this _sympathizer _will inspire _vengeance _when his brutal murder, _by you, _is exposed." The rumble from the crowd was getting louder.

He looked down at them and shook is head. "Great plan, _M__other, _until _innocent _people start dying in a war with the Qunari _that you started_!"

She gave a sideways look to her guards. "To die untested… _that _would be the real crime. One needs the opportunity to test one's faith. Starting with _you_!" She turned to the crowd. "Earn your reward in this life and the next!" She raised a fist at Hawke up on the balcony. "These _heretics _must _die_"

* * *

><p>The mob surged forward as one. With shouted curses, they charged toward the right-side stairway. Three archers stopped and set their arrows, while the rest drew weapons and started up to the balcony. Merrill's controlled mind-blast slowed them enough to give Aveline time to gain a firm footing on the landing half-way down. Hawke took her left flank to get behind the first ones to gain the landing.<p>

On the balcony overlooking the main floor, Bianca spoke three times in quick succession, felling two of the archers there. Cursing roundly, Varric fumbled the bolts in the reload when three assassins in black leather appeared at the head of the left-side stairs–He and Merrill had been flanked. The one missile he managed to load flew true, hitting the leading rogue in the right ear–he dropped like a chopped tree. Bianca's bayonet slashed the woman following, causing her to drop one blade and turn to deal with the dwarf. The last assassin now had a free hand at Merrill's unprotected back. Using his cloaking ability, he faded from view and started his approach.

On the right-side stair landing, _Fadeshear's _length was an advantage. Though it was a longsword, Aveline's long arms gave her a wider striking range–she used it like a greatsword. Not waiting for the whole mob, she descended two steps and ran the leader through, disabling two of his followers with a looping sweep. Raising her shield, she stepped back, drawing those following past Hawke, who dispatched one after another with his main-hand and then his off-hand, until he had five attackers dead on the stairs. Seeing that the Guard-Captain was holding her own, Hawke descended to the main floor to deal with the biggest threat–the remaining archer.

It was a dance. At least that was how Merrill looked at it now. It had taken a while, quite a while it seemed, but she'd finally mastered the mind-set that Dalish Keepers called _The __Higher Plane _when you translated the phrase. A calm detachment came over her, like her life was not the least bit endangered. Her staff, fashioned from a branch cut from Kirkwall's own _Vhenadahl _tree, was an extension of her focused will. Having razor sharp blades fastened to its head, shank, and tail, she could throw magic missiles as well as slash at closer opponents with it. The missiles flew until a presence intruded. Her finely honed instinct told her of that presence. An unfriendly presence was there behind her, not at the battle front. It was focused on her–she was a target, but a quick look over her shoulder revealed nothing.

She could see that Varric was entangled in a hand-to-hand struggle with a figure in black. Was it his call that caught her attention? Her eyes returned to their front. Something instinctive would not allow those eyes to betray her, though. Seeming to have a will of its own, the ancient wood of her staff told her what her eyes could not and she responded. Her dance was as old as the dalish–the hardened blades spun in a blur. A slash with the shank blade was followed by a head blade slash, topped with a back-handed jab of the tail blade–She twisted the staff out as the assassin's body fell.

"Sorry… Daisy," the dwarf panted when he finally caught up with her. "You all right?" At her fervent nod, he ran to the balcony rail and scanned the main floor through Bianca's sights. The Chantry's massive entry doors had been left half-open by the fleeing survivors.

* * *

><p>The fight was over. Hawke and Aveline joined Merrill and Varric at the balcony's bloodstained left entrance. Taking stock revealed minor injuries, nothing that couldn't be treated on the battlefield.<p>

Varric seemed to have fared the worst. Merrill turned to to help him while Hawke tended Aveline. Footfalls on the stone steps made them all look up. "Do you see, Your Grace? _Traitors _attacking the very heart of the Chantry!" It was Mother Petrice following Elthina closely. "They _defile _sacred ground with their very presence!"

Hawke opened his mouth to speak, but a stern look from the Grand Cleric silenced him. He was glad to see her. Though she looked tired, she still looked magnificent to him. How had her trip to Orlais gone? He wanted to see her in private–he'd really missed her. For that, her pointed look told him, he'd have to wait.

They all watched as the Grand Cleric circled the balcony, taking in the gruesome aftermath of battle. Her gaze settled on Hawke, then shifted to Petrice. "There is death in every corner, _young _Mother." When she recognized Saemus, all she could do was close her eyes. Her stern look was for Petrice. "It is as you predicted," she intoned. "All too well."

Elthina faced Hawke, who was standing in front of Aveline and Varric. Merrill was at the balcony rail, looking forlornly down at the bodies in the Great Hall. Elthina's eyes naturally went to Hawke and Petrice. She looked back and forth between them and raised an eyebrow–an invitation for either to speak.

"Forgive me the intrusion, Your Grace. But you must know the truth about what happened here." Hawke spoke to Elthina, but glared at Petrice.

Petrice almost spat at him. Her arms were crossed over an ample bosom. "Don't you spout your Qunari _filth. _Mind how you speak. _This _is the hand of the _Divine._"

Kirkwall's Grand Cleric smiled indulgently and tipped a shadow of a wink at Hawke. "I _have _ears, Mother Petrice. The Maker _would _have me use them." She put on a stony face and turned to him. "Serah Hawke, is it?" Her eyes found the floor, then returned to his face.

Did they hear Varric's snort from the back rank? "Aye, Your Grace, it is," Hawke intoned. "Viscount Dumar's son is _dead_," he glared at Petrice again, "killed here in _your_ name." His voice echoed back at them from the Great Hall.

They all watched as Merrill, who had turned angrily from the balcony rail at Hawke's words, started to say something, thought the better of it, and turned back away. Again, Elthina slowly closed her eyes. "I am sure that _my name _will _not _like that." She turned her head. "Petrice?"

She looked away. "Saemus Dumar was a _Qunari convert_!" She put on a concerned face. "He came here… He came back to us to _repent_ and was murdered!" She pointed in Varric's direction. "By _him_!"

The dwarf's look of surprise was classic Varric. He held up his hands and shrugged. Hawke could only shake his head. "It is a _ruse_, Your Grace. Saemus was lured here with a fake letter and killed to turn everyone against the Qunari."

It was dawning on Elthina, Hawke was glad to see it on her face. She turned to Petrice. "Mother?" was all she asked.

She was cornered. "This is no longer a matter of _heathens _squatting in the Docks of Kirkwall. People are leaving _us _to join _them_!" she blurted. Her face fell when she realized what she'd just said.

"And we must_ pray_ for them, like _any_ other." Elthina admonished as if to a willful child.

The Revered Mother knew she'd lost. "They _deny _the Maker!"

"And you _diminish_ Him, even as you claim his side." She spoke her truth quietly. "Andraste did _not _volunteer for the flame, _young mother._" Elthina turned abruptly away. "Serah Hawke, do you stand with the Captain of the Guard?"

He was ready. "Aye, Your Grace, as do we all." Varric and Merrill agreed with a nod.

Her face remained stern. "This young mother has erred in her judgment. A court will decide her fate." She spared a pitying look for Petrice. "The Chantry respects the law-of-the-land and so must she." With some dignity, she mounted the stairs and made her way to her quarters.

"Your Grace," Petrice pleaded in disbelief. "Grand Cleric?"

Elthina, taking the steps one-at-a-time, did not look back.

"Grand Cleric!" Did something in the shadows move? Was Elthina turning around? With renewed hope, Petrice took a step forward.

The sound of a bowstring releasing caused Elthina to look back just in time to see Petrice drop slowly to her knees. An arrow had sprouted from her breast, its ragged ebon fletching was dull against the scarlet of her bodice. Kirkwall's Grand Cleric was there to see the shadow that stepped out in plain sight.

The entire balcony was in tableau–the Qunari bowman deliberately, slowly, set another arrow and drew it back, his bow creaking with the effort. The Arishok's sentence was carried out with a well placed, merciful head shot. No-one said a word–no-one moved.

The bowman, his job done, slung his weapon. "We protect those who follow the Qun. We do _not_ abandon our own." Before anyone could speak, he was gone.

It would take a sharp eye to see the single tear that ran down Elthina's cheek. Merrill did and so did Hawke. He wanted to go to her, but propriety forbade it. He could only stand with his friends and watch her walk away.

"Please… Send for Viscount Dumar," she said, turning to make her way upstairs.

* * *

><p><em>My Dearest Petrine,<br>__It has been so long since I have heard from you.  
><em>_Are you well? Maybe you are just busy. That  
><em>_is my most fervent hope._

_I am so miserable. Last night, I drank myself  
><em>_into oblivion and my misery today seems just,  
><em>_but somehow it is not enough. They have killed  
><em>_my baby! Those vile, heathen qunari beasts  
><em>_have murdered my Petrice! She did not deserve  
><em>_to be executed. The agony that she endured,  
><em>_Petrine! Agony that I witnessed with my own  
><em>_eyes._

_That she was involved in something  
><em>_not-quite-right, something shady, I have no  
><em>_doubt. I have yet to get to the bottom of it,  
><em>_but eventually I will, Maker willing. She was  
><em>_brutally slain right here in the atrium-in the  
><em>_heart of our Chantry. What could I… what  
><em>_could we have done to prevent it? Is this  
><em>_the Maker's hand at work? Why Petrine,  
><em>_why?_

_My dear, I must go. A heartbroken viscount  
><em>_wishes to meet with me personally. He has  
><em>_lost his son to this seemingly bottomless  
><em>_pit of intrigue as well. What shall I tell him?  
><em>_How do I console him? Do I share my  
><em>_youngest daughter's guilt in this as well?  
><em>_Petrine, how I wish you were here. Your  
><em>_counsel is sorely needed._

_Sadly awaiting happier times.  
><em>_ Love, Elthina._

__A/N Once again, thanks ~_Vice._ You were right.


	14. Ch 14 Isabela To Catch a Thief

Varric refilled their glasses and topped off the table bottle from the cask of Antivan brandy tucked away in the corner. "This one's done, Hawke," he announced, tipping the keg forward to get out the last bit. He raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a replacement, or is it up to me?"

"I don't know." Hawke made a face. "Can I trust your judgment… your taste? That last lot was a headache-in-a-bottle."

The dwarf wore a hurt look. "I'll overlook your assault on my reputation. I am _not _the cheap bastard you portray me to be." He set the bottle on the table and sat down. "What I have, my friend, is _liquid gold._ I held back two quarter-casks of this fine Antivan spirit from a… shipment. They've been aging in my digs at the Hanged Man for too long. I'll send them over tomorrow. _Gratis!_"

_ "Thanks… _I think." He took a moment to look around his upstairs study. They were sitting at a long dining table with ten chairs that dominated the room. In a far corner, overlooking the entry hall, sat an upholstered easy chair and an unlit reading lamp. It had been his mother's favorite spot. She'd claimed it not long after moving in. He didn't have the heart to move them. Like her bedroom, they held too many memories. "That reminds me–how's the book coming?" He set his glass down and reached for the bottle.

"_Ahh,_ glad you asked." Varric rubbed his hands together and dug around in his carry-bag. "I need you to help fill in some of the gaps. The Qunari… _fiasco_. What happened after Petrice's _execution?_ What finally pushed the Arishok over the edge?" He pulled up an ink bottle and sharpened a quill with a bone-handled pocket-knife. "They couldn't leave until they found something?" He couldn't quite remember. "Didn't the _Pirate Queen _have something to do with it?" The dwarf couldn't help but leer at the mention of Isabela. "That one–long on the looks, but short on the political savvy."

Hawke picked up his glass and sat back. "Yeah, right. What hate and discontent the Revered Mother stirred up got carried on by Isabela's light-fingered fumbling. Didn't she know what stealing their relic would do to the Qunari–what it would do to Kirkwall?" He rolled his eyes.

"Still, you can't complain, Hawke." Varric set his glass down and grinned. "The duel with the Arishok made you a hero. From an immigrant to a household name in a few short years. Not too shabby."

"Hmm, _champion,_" he mused, refilling their glasses. "You said there were gaps?"

"The storm that wrecked _The Siren's Call–_Isabela's ship–didn't that seem _too _convenient? Wasn't there more to it than just a little _wind_?" He uncapped the ink bottle and opened his notebook.

Hawke took a stiff belt and grimaced. "With _Captain _Isabela, nothing is that simple…

* * *

><p><em>In our meetings with the Qunari leader, he mentioned not being able to leave Kirkwall <em>_until he found something that was taken from him. Isabela's part in it was revealed a bit at a time. In the week following Petrice's death, I came home one evening to find Aveline and Isabela standing nose-to-nose in what was once __Mother's Sitting Room._

_ Before I even got into the room, the Guard-Captain's voice stopped me. 'This is important,' she'd said, 'Don't interrupt with your selfish prattle.' I wasn't too sure who she was talking to, so I stayed put._

_ There was no mistaking 'Bela's beautiful voice. 'Get off your high horse. I have problems too.' _

_ Those two were worlds apart except in temperament, so I wisely chose to listen to their gripes from hiding. Maybe they could thrash it out before my presence was needed._

_ 'Hmmf!' Only Avvy could put that much contempt into one sound. 'Right! What drink shall I order?' Her voice was shrill with mockery. 'Who… is… the father?' Her throaty tone almost made me laugh out loud._

_ 'Oh, you… Bitch!' It was almost a shriek._

_ I decided to make my entrance before there was a mess to clean up. 'What is it now, you two?' Though I didn't see any weapons, stepping between them was out of the question. _

_ At my interruption, two pair __of the most beautiful eyes in Kirkwall unlocked from each other and turned on me. 'Hawke–the Arishok is sheltering two fugitives who have _converted _to the Qun. He must be convinced to release them.' Green-Eyes spoke first. 'He's already feared because of Petrice's shenanigans. If people start thinking he can ignore the law… I need your help so this doesn't get out of hand,' she pleaded._

_ Two stunning hazel eyes regarded me calmly. I couldn't look away. 'I am going to die!' She smiled. 'There. Got your attention. Real problem.' Her smile widened._

_ I looked back and forth at their steady gazes. No one blinked–no one looked away. 'Hold on here. What's this about?' was all I could think of._

_ Hazel-Eyes broke the silence; 'Remember the relic? The one that Castillon is going to kill me over?' Like a big cat's, they slowly closed and opened again. 'A man called Wall-Eyed Sam has it.' She looked past me at Aveline. 'If you help me get it back, Castillon won't kill me.' Her eyes, once again, found mine. 'Please.'_

_ I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it did with a thud; 'I'm trying to keep the entire city from rioting against the Qunari!' This was Green-Eyes._

_ Hazel had an ace up her sleeve; 'Well, maybe it's all connected.'_

_ 'What?' It was news to the Guard-Captain. Her eyes widened, then narrowed with suspicion. Both green and hazel eyes were, once again, locked. _

_ Hazel broke away first. 'I'm just saying… maybe it will help.' She shrugged. 'It's important to someone, right?'_

_ Aveline averted a murderous look and threw up her hands, almost hitting me in the process. 'Now, you start being responsible? Shit!' Her hand on my shoulder steadied me._

_ Now, they had their backs to one another. 'Isabela, this is the relic you've been looking for?' I asked, playing for time. I had to think._

_ 'Yeah, I've had my ear to the ground for some time now. My sources gave me a description of the book. It is the right one,' Isabela assured me, though her hazel eyes wouldn't meet mine._

_ 'Book?' My tone made her look sharply around at me. 'I thought you didn't know what the relic was.' I had her there. My wink at the guard-Captain got a distant smile in return._

_ 'Well I… ' Her mind must've been racing. 'I know it's a book,' she admitted, nervously twisting a thumb-ring on her left hand. 'But… that's all I know. It's written in a foreign tongue.' She turned to face me and raised her hands. 'Honestly, what does it matter? It'll save me from Castillon, so I need to find it.'_

_ Aveline didn't appear to be listening. Her back was to us. 'Isn't it odd that someone would run _to _the Qunari?' Did she hear me? I decided to wait her out._

_ Finally, she unfolded her arms and turned to face me. 'Well, they're city elves accused of murder. Maybe they feel they have nothing to lose by fleeing the Alienage.' _

_ After what had happened to the viscount's son, I wasn't really sure. 'And if their conversion to the Qun is the truth?'_

_ Aveline shrugged. 'I… don't know. But how many more miscreants will try it if I allow these elves to hide? Justice must be respected.'_

_ It didn't take me long. My mind was made up.'The relic issue has to be resolved before we take on the Qunari.'_

_ The Guard-Captain turned on me. 'So, Hawke, it's now tits over brains?' She glared at Isabela, who couldn't help giving her a salacious wink. 'I can't believe you've come down on _her _side.'_

_ 'Think about it,' I replied, barely controlling my temper. 'It's not even a matter of _sides.' _My eyes found Isabela's, willing her to just be still. 'If solving _her _problem makes dealing with the Arishok any easier, I say let's do it.'_

_ 'Then go do it, dammit!' Aveline left in a hurry, slamming the door behind her._

_ Isabela covered her face with both hands, barely able to stifle her glee. 'Are you going to tell her? That's the–'_

_ 'You, in the corner. Now.' I interrupted her. 'Sit. Stay. Good girl.' I could hear 'Bela's hitching and snickering as I crossed the room and opened the closet door._

_ Aveline was standing at the window at the far end of the narrow room that served as a storage closet. When I closed the door behind me, she raised her chin, but didn't look my way. 'Come to gloat? To show the _loser _the door?' There was more anger than self-pity in her words._

_ 'No.' I placed my hands on her shoulders, turning her around. 'I've come to ask you not to do this to me. I need you.' Her look of surprise made me smile in spite of myself. 'I've got a gut feeling about this and I know I can trust you. What do you say?'_

_ She didn't have to think very long. 'I'm in. What do you want me to do?' _

_ 'Can you round up Varric and Merrill while I try to get the truth out of the _Captain_?'_

_ 'Good luck,' she said. 'I've got the easiest task, it seems.' On her way out, Aveline did an admirable job ignoring Isabela's cat-calls and mocking laughter._

* * *

><p>Varric was scribbling furiously. At the end of a line, he looked up. "Another piece of Kirkwall's history I missed–damned you, Bartrand."<p>

"He's blood, Varric. Could you look at yourself in the mirror if you didn't take care of him?" Cale held up the bottle and refilled their glasses.

"Yeah, yeah Hawke. I hear it enough, it'll become the truth." He changed the subject. "So, the relic stolen from the Qunari was a book. When did you find out Isabela's part in it?"

"That was what led us to a _friend _of hers–a gentleman known to all as Wall-Eyed Sam.

* * *

><p><em>On our way to the Foundry District we passed the Hanged Man<em>_.__ It was late afternoon then, so traffic was light. After sunset, the real crowds would make their way to one of Kirkwall's favorite watering holes. 'Maybe we can nip in and see if Varric can come with us,' Merrill said, while eying Isabela's back with some suspicion._

_ 'I've already checked,' the guard-Captain assured her. 'He's out of town–something about his brother. They don't know when he'll be back.'_

_ 'Pity.' Merrill watched Isabela slip around a far corner and make her way back to the group. 'Something about her I just don't trust,' she'd whispered._

_ Isabela led us aside under an awning that was a shop stall during the day. 'Damn, it's never easy. There's a patrol on the far side of that stairwell–Qunari. No more than six that I could see. Let me work my way around them while you keep them looking this way.' Without waiting for an answer, she ran down a side alley and was gone._

_ I stayed Aveline's sword-hand. 'Let's see what they're up to. No sense provoking them, right?'_

_ 'So right,' she agreed. 'Let's get on with it. Come what may.' She spared me one of her stern looks as she brushed by._

* * *

><p><em> Isabela'd miscounted. There was only five Qunari warriors in the patrol that blocked our path into the Foundry District. In spite of slung weapons, their red war-paint told all that they had a purpose. 'Hold. I recognize the one called Hawke. We seek the woman-pirate. She was with you.' Their Sten was the biggest and carried a greatsword slung behind his left shoulder. The others carried their lances slung as well. To my relief, there were no bows here.<em>

_ It sounded like an accusation. 'She left us,' I replied, using my best card-player's face. 'What has she done?'_

_ The Sten drew himself up, uncrossing his arms. 'It is a matter of honor. She has something that belongs to all the Qun. We are here to take it back.'_

_ 'She doesn't have it. We're looking for it now–'_

_ He drew his weapon, causing his followers to do the same. 'Then you are stained with her dishonor as well.' He raised his voice. 'These bas have no honor. Kill them!'_

* * *

><p>Varric looked up from his notes. "So, where was the Pirate-Captain? She didn't leave you there to hold the bag, did she?"<p>

"No, but she did put a huge hole in our group. Aveline and I had to fight at the front. The Qunari were too strong for one of us to stay back and cover Merrill so she was on her own." He shook his head. "But Isabela did come up with something… "

* * *

><p><em>'I am all right. Really, I am,' she protested, shying away from Aveline's attention. 'It is just… my staff. Where did it get to?'<em>

_ 'No, you're not.' Her fingers gently probed a large knot on the elf's head. 'You've taken a hard knock. Here, be still!'_

_ 'Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?' Isabela had reappeared from the alley she'd taken before the fight.'Those ox-men were push-overs, weren't they?'_

_ Aveline looked up from tending Merrill. 'Hawke, before we go any further, we need to clear the air.'_

_ I had to agree. It was about time. 'Isabela, level with us–the whole truth about this relic or this is as far as we go.' _

_ She knew we'd cornered her. 'Er… yes. About that.' Her eyes looked everywhere but at me. 'The relic belongs to the Qunari and there's a chance, just a small chance, they still want it back.' She pulled her hands away from her weapons at Merrill and Aveline's approach._

_ The Guard-Captain's voice held not a little menace; 'C'mon captain, come clean. It's good for the soul.'_

_ Aveline's gambit didn't work. Isabela stepped back and crossed her arms over an ample bosom. A mulish look that we all knew too well set her face._

_ She allowed me to take her arm and steer her away from the group. 'Come on, now–you need to tell me what's going on.' My voice was too low for the others to hear. 'You can trust us. We need to know.'_

_ Her eyes returned to mine from their scrutiny of Aveline and Merrill. 'Well, you all know my ship foundered not far from Kirkwall Harbor. That's where I wanted to land. What you don't know was why I was running through a bastard of a gale to get here. The Qunari were closing too fast and I got careless… I found the rocks just off the cape.' She stopped to watch a wagon make its way to the waterfront. 'We took to the boat with the relic and the few who were still alive, but not before we saw the end for the Qunari as well. Their barque was holed and went down well offshore. Served the bastards right.' There were now tears in her eyes. 'I lost… the only one I really cared about in that wreck.' She turned her back on me._

_ This was a first for me. I'd never seen Isabela like this. I put a steady hand on her shoulder and when she looked up, I said, 'I am sorry. It seems everybody is losing someone they care about lately.'_

_ It didn't take long for her to compose herself. 'I've always known what the relic was,' she admitted. 'I just didn't want to… worry you.' She shook her head and made a pushing-away gesture at my skeptical look. 'The relic is a Qunari text handwritten by that philosopher of theirs–Keslan, Cousland… whatever his damned name is.' She shrugged and looked me dead in the eye. I knew the truth was coming. 'I stole it from them, they followed me here to reclaim it, and Wall-Eyed Sam stole it from me. That is why the Qunari are still here in Kirkwall.' _

_ 'And they very well can't leave without it, can they?' Aveline was close enough that she'd heard most of the admission. 'The Arishok told us as much. All of this could have been avoided!' _

_ I couldn't believe it. 'All this over the theft of a book?' I saw Merrill about to say something, but she kept her peace._

_ 'Don't know.' Isabela adjusted her weapon harness with a shrug. 'Maybe they take their reading seriously. Look. The book's right in this building, and I'm not letting it slip away again. Are you coming with me?' This time, she waited for us to follow. 'Oh, by the way, the Qunari have an _Achille's Heel, _of sorts. For a quick kill, stab your blade at the base of their neck from the back–gets them every time.' She winked at Aveline. 'That's how I got three of 'em before you guys even got your blades out.'_

* * *

><p>"Well, that makes sense." Varric had finished with his notes. "I can see why the good captain found somewhere else to be every time we visited the Qun compound. What about Wall-Eyed Sam? In the grand scheme of things, he's a nothing. How did he get involved?"<p>

Hawke shook his head. "I'm not really sure. Isabela wasn't very forthcoming about any of it. He was probably there and took advantage of the situation. It's not very often anyone gets one-up on _her_."

He turned a page in his notebook and picked up his pen. "She did get it back. Bringing it to you when you faced the Arishok had a touch of her grand timing. That took guts, if you ask me."

"Hmmf!' Hawke disagreed. "If she had guts… never mind. She got the book. We paid the price…."

* * *

><p><em>She led us right to Wall-Eyed Sam. On a terrace overlooking the furnace room in the Lost End Foundry we were able to watch what was going on without being seen. 'There he is,' Isabela whipered, pointing to a scruffy-looking character standing on the main floor, surrounded by a group of mages. 'He's probably going to unload the tome here. It would be of interest to them.'<em>

_ A powerful voice from the terrace on the far side of the room caught our attention; 'The Tome of Koslun will not fall into Tevinter hands!' The Qunari were not to be denied._

_ Everything seemed to happen a once. With a cry of _He's getting away! _Isabela took off after Sam, while the mages spread out and attacked the Qunari. There were no doors on our terrace that would allow us to get out, so we decided to wait for the mages or the Qunari to win the battle below._

_ Our patience was rewarded. When the last of the Qunari fell, there was only a pair of mages left for us–Aveline, Merrill, and me–to deal with. Isabela's desertion had again left a hole in our group's effectiveness. Still, Merrill's fireball stunned them long enough for Aveline and me to finish them with little effort._

_ There wasn't much time. It hadn't been long since the captain had left, so we declined searching bodies on the battleground and followed her path from the foundry. Outside, we found Wall-Eyed Sam's corpse. Its condition spoke of Isabela's ire–loud and clear. She hadn't just killed him, she'd literally cut him to pieces._

_ Aveline had her back to us, but we could still hear her. 'She's gone. She took it. That bitch-born whore!' She turned on us. 'Hawke, she's left us holding the damned bag. But that's good.' Her smile was feral. 'Now we get to deal with the Arishok and the fugitives ourselves.' The Guard-Captain held up a bloody scrap of paper._

_Dear Hawke,  
>I have the relic and I am gone.<br>I'm sorry it has to be this way.  
>You've been a loyal ally, but this<br>is best for us both._

_You promised me the relic, and  
>I know you'd fight Castillon for me,<br>but I don't want this.  
>I've dragged you too far into this<br>mess already._

_You don't have to forgive me, but I  
>hope you understand.<br>My thanks, Isabela. _

__A/N Thanks ~_Vice._ It's much better now. _C._


End file.
